


Branded

by Wolveria



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Asexual Reader, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Claiming, Demon Bucky Barnes, Demon Deals, Demon Sex, Demons, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Occult, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Rape Mention, Past Rape/Non-con, Pheromones, Sex Pollen, Smut, Soul Bond, Succubi & Incubi, Top Bucky Barnes, incubus Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 162,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolveria/pseuds/Wolveria
Summary: “You’ve had a lot of nasty stuff following you over the years. You have no idea what I’ve protected you from.”He didn’t look at you when he said it, but ice shot up your spine. Not from the fact you may have released some demonic critters into the world, or the fact he somehow knew your name, but the knowledge he had been following you for most of your life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lifting You Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256559) by [AraniaArt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniaArt/pseuds/AraniaArt), [Kamiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamiki/pseuds/Kamiki). 

> For Moonstruckbucky’s Halloween Challenge!
> 
> This demon!Bucky is based on the wonderful series [Falling's Just Another Way to Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/series/582637). I highly recommend everyone read it, because these stories are truly amazing and I can't get enough of demon Bucky.
> 
> What you need to know for my AU is that HYDRA used demonic rituals instead of a serum to turn Bucky into their weapon. He managed to escape HYDRA captivity (in a very horrific way), so he's no longer under their control by the time he meets Reader. He doesn't go into detail, but that's what he's referring to when he speaks to her.
> 
> I based the likeness of my demon!Bucky from this [fanart](https://gravesecret.tumblr.com/post/188517634067/thanks-drawing-demonbucky-is-so-much-fun) from the same fanfic as mentioned above. Their blog is full of incredible art so please go check them out.
> 
> Prompt: “When there is no room left in hell, the dead will walk the earth.”
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Horror, monsters, mentions of suicide, incubus!Bucky, pheromones, sex pollen, demon!Bucky accidentally seducing you, demon anatomy, dub con

You pushed the apartment door open and shut it with a definitive_ thud_ behind you, wobbling on your feet. Within seconds you heard a banging on the wall; the neighbors making their displeasure known.

As if your night couldn’t possibly get worse. Your head was pounding, your feet hurt, and you were sure your Uber driver had thought you were wasted with your red-rimmed eyes and runny nose.

You tossed your purse on the counter and kicked off your shoes just as a wailing noise announced its presence from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hi, stinker.” You sighed, bending down to pet the large grey cat as he bumped his forehead against your legs. “Miss me?”

Monster gave another loud meow, his head tilting and green eyes wide as he screamed up at you. You laughed and felt your mood already improving despite the disastrous events of the evening.

“Yeah, yeah, one second—no, stop, _get out_ of the _way_—“

You had to untangle your legs from your cat’s massive body as he tried to commit light manslaughter on the way to the kitchen. You made it in one piece and opened a can of cat food for him in his bowl. He voraciously chowed down, practically inhaling his food and ignoring you now that he had been appeased.

You walked, or rather stumbled to the bathroom and flipped on the light, nearly startling yourself in the mirror. You’d already forgotten what you were wearing and a blush crept up your neck from scaring yourself in the mirror. It was somewhat intimidating, the sight of grey skin, various fetid wounds, and copious amounts of fake blood and exposed bones.

You didn’t normally go for company parties, even Halloween ones, but you’d taken the chance because a certain attractive—and more importantly, available—coworker had been planning to attend.

At least, you’d thought he was available. When you’d seen Davin leave the party with his arms around Theresa, the woman whose cubicle was right next to yours and you knew for a fact wasn’t interested in your crush because she had said so _many times_, you knew his availability was no longer a question.

You went home, alone, as you did every night, but this time with the benefit of getting plastered to drown in your self-pity. The garish face staring back at you did nothing to make you feel less like an idiot, and you sighed and pulled off your long, bright red wig. The Avengers were a popular choice every year and people at the party had complimented your creative “Zombie Black Widow’ outfit you’d spent hours putting together.

Well, almost everyone had noticed it. Davin had completely ignored you. And to think, at one point you believed he’d liked you. You should have known better. You were never anyone’s first choice.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you took off your costume a piece at a time, washed the makeup from your face, and tried to pick out the black glitter and fake blood in your hair. You were too exhausted for a shower, not to mention by the state of your pounding headache you were transitioning from _inebriated _to _hangover_.

After putting on your pajamas, you immediately went to bed, sighing in relief as you crawled under the covers. You were still disappointed; Halloween was your favorite night of the year, and you had hoped this one would be different. You’d always been obsessed with the occult and the macabre; even when you were a kid you’d tried to use Ouija boards and séances to contact the dead. It had never worked, but sometimes strange things would happen to you, and you took it as a sign that there was something out there, magical and unknowable.

And yet, here you were, a pathetic adult trying your hardest not to think about what your coworkers were doing right now. It made your stomach twist and the self-loathing dig that much deeper.

There was a soft thump as your cat jumped up on the bed, followed by a loud meow to announce his arrival. You clicked your tongue at him and held out your hand; he bumped his head against your palm so hard it knocked your hand back. You giggled and stroked his grey fur as he curled up against your side.

At least you had Monster on your side. Who needed men?

You fell asleep to the sound of your massive cat purring. You woke to the feeling of suffocation and a low, menacing growling.

You couldn’t remember opening your eyes but you were staring upward, barely able to breathe. You tried to lift your arms and head but they didn’t respond. You attempted to curl your toes and fingers but they remained inert.

The growling rose into a warning hiss, an aggressive yowl, and you realized the weight on your chest was Monster. You could see his grey fur, puffed up and agitated. He wasn’t growling at you, he wasn’t even facing you, instead turned toward your bedroom door.

Your heart hammered in your head, blood pumping through your ears, but your body was a foreign entity and wouldn’t respond to your commands. That didn’t stop the adrenaline from hitting your system, and you felt like you were suffocating as you couldn’t get enough oxygen to sustain your racing heart.

A shadow loomed over you. Your body was paralyzed, but your eyes could move perfectly well. You focused on the dark shape and realized it was staring back at you. You tried to scream but made only a faint rasping noise in your throat.

Monster made another low growl and the creature glared at him. You couldn’t tell what it was, only that it was vaguely shaped like a person and it had venomous green eyes. It seemed to be featureless, or it was until folds of skin peeled away from where its mouth and nose would be.

Its face opened like a poisonous flower, its gaping mouth lined with rows and rows of triangular teeth. Everything glowed green, even the cavern of its throat, which you could see terrifyingly clear from this angle.

It leaned forward and you realized too late it was going to cover your face with its petal-like maw. You were helpless to stop it, frozen and trapped under the covers. Its breath washed over you, foul and rancid, and you felt your throat close as you struggled not to vomit, knowing you would choke on it.

The edges of its mouth covered your vision and you could no longer see your room. You were going to die, alone and in your bed, and no one would ever know the truth of what had happened to you. That, somehow, was the worst aspect of this nightmare.

Your cat yowled sharply and the creature flinched back, claw marks now across its face, dripping red into its mouth. You had never seen Monster so much as bully a spider and he had just raked his claws across its eyes, barely missing the teeth in the process. The creature gave a low moan that sounded like a dying whale. You were beyond the point of wanting to scream, you were in the realm of pure animal terror now.

It raised a hand, no, a _claw_, curved and wicked and gut-tearing, and you tried to move, tried to cry out. If the creature got you, then so be it, but you couldn’t sit by and let it kill Monster.

Before it could complete the killing blow, the window of your room flew open and a gust of cold wind howled furiously into your room. The creature hesitated, its claw hanging in midair, and it gave another rumbling moan that made you think of deep places in the earth where humans could never reach.

There was a sound like a pair of massive wings flapping, and once the noise went silent, the wind in your room died. Something new, another shape looming and dark, but you couldn’t turn your head to see. All you knew was Monster was no longer hissing or yowling, the growl from him faint and low.

The creature retreated from the edge of your vision and a voice spoke. It was deep, masculine, and surprisingly human. The words it spoke weren’t from any language you knew, and you suspected it wasn’t a language meant for people. The words were twisted and slithered, spitted and curled, and made the hairs of your body stand up straight.

The dying-whale creature responded with a moan that would haunt your nightmares forever. The second intruder responded with hostile aggression easily recognizable across any language.

Another moan, this one sounding argumentative, and then there was a blinding flash of light and a furious _crack_ that split the air. A rotten smell filled your nostrils and you gagged, the effect causing you to gasp for air as your unwilling throat refused to open.

You shut your eyes tightly and focused on trying to breathe, but the panic combined with the stench—rotten eggs?—activated your gag reflex. You wheezed and choked, unable to properly cough let alone breathe.

There was a cool sensation the base of your throat. Like a valve opening a floodgate, your airways expanded in an instant. You drew in a shuddered breath and began to cough, hacking and sputtering, your lungs burning greedily for air.

The first thing you noticed with the influx of air was that it no longer stunk of sulfur. Rich and earthy but with a hint of pine or cedar, something that reminded you of a forest. There was also something about it that was strangely familiar.

Monster was still on your chest protectively guarding you, and you didn’t mind the extra weight, so grateful be able to breathe that your eyes filled with tears. Whatever had touched your throat had been removed. You tried to turn your head to see what it was, but your neck muscles were still frozen. You moaned in pure frustration and then went quiet, surprised you’d been able to make the noise in the first place.

Was the sleep paralysis finally wearing off? You knew that’s what it was, and the creature you had seen had been part of a half-conscious hallucination.

But then, why had Monster been acting so agitated? Had that been a hallucination, too?

Something touched your temple, so light you thought you were imagining it. You felt it again, tracing across your skin, and it was unmistakably real. It felt wonderful, like a breeze on a scorching day, and the fear leeched from your taut muscles. Your heart slowed its frantic pace and you no longer had the need to gulp for air.

The touch traveled very slowly down the curve of your jawline, and as it did, control returned to the muscles of your mouth. You parted your lips and tried to speak but the words were still trapped in your chest.

Down, down, the touch continued, following the pulse point on your throat to your collarbone. It stopped there, it had to, Monster was sitting firmly on your chest. He was no longer growling.

“_Pax_,” the voice murmured. A moment later, to your complete astonishment, your massive cat who didn’t like anyone including your own family, began to purr.

Sluggishly, as if your muscles were heavy from disuse, you slightly tilted your head and looked down.

He was… a man. Or seemed to be at first glance. He had dark brown hair, long around his shoulders, and sharp blue eyes that seemed to stare straight through you.

That’s where the human part of his features stopped. Twin horns curved back from above his ears, his ears were tapered into points, and his left arm… It was a dark brown color, but hardened like some kind of armor. It wasn’t scaly exactly, though there was a pattern, as if the armor was plated. There was a red pentagram on the hard crust of his shoulder. You couldn’t tell if it was painted or carved.

You hadn’t noticed them at first, probably because they were folded behind his back, but he also had an enormous pair of bat-like webbed wings.

Horns. Wings. Whatever the hell that arm thing was.

_If it looks like a demon and sounds like a demon and walks like a demon…_

A tiny part of your brain, the part that had most likely cracked, wondered if he had a forked tail.

You pressed your lips together but it was too late. You giggled, and then in your rush to stop giggling, you snorted, horrified.

The… well, for lack of a better term, _demon,_ tilted his head and stared down at you. He was stroking Monster’s back with the hand that looked human, or at least moreso than his armored one, and Monster seemed like he was in paradise. His eyes were narrowed into slits as he continued to purr like the traitor he was.

_“Relinquam,”_ the demon said. Not to you. To your cat. _“Tutum est.”_

Monster stood on all fours and stretched out luxuriously; you wheezed as his considerable weight was still pressing down on your sternum. He moseyed down to the end of the bed and leapt down, and beyond that you couldn’t see him any longer.

He had left you alone with the demon.

The demon in question turned his gaze back to you, and when you reluctantly made eye contact you noticed just how _blue_ his eyes were. They were pretty, much too pretty to belong to an evil being, right? And it wasn’t just the brightness of his eyes that was disarming; he was wearing a white tank and grey sweatpants. Not really what you would have expected from a demonic wardrobe, he seemed very dressed down for a minion of Hell.

Your internal musings shattered when he reached toward your face. You flinched back. The movement was tiny and barely registered but the demon still paused, his hand inches from your cheek. To your shock, when he next spoke, you could understand him.

“I won’t hurt you.”

His voice was low but surprisingly soft. You swallowed, mouth abruptly dry.

“As I told your hobgoblin,” he continued, slightly tilting his head, “you’re safe with me.”

You slipped your tongue across your lips to wet them, and managed to rasp out in a croaky voice:

“My… what?”

Instead of answering, he pulled back his clawed appendage and moved his human hand forward, brushing against the side of your jaw. The soothing sensation returned to your skin, and the dryness in your throat vanished. He slid his fingers downward across your throat, and when his clawed hand joined in, the sensation of two sets of hands across your collarbone sent a wave of _something_ through your body. Before there had been a cooling sensation like a refreshing breeze, but this felt more like tingles of electricity thrumming across your skin.

“What’s… happening?” You were breathless as you tried to resist the prickling throughout your body. It wasn’t unpleasant, almost like the pins-and-needles feeling of blood returning to your foot after it falls asleep but without any of the pain.

“Shhh,” he hushed gently. “You’re still paralyzed by the_ Alp’s_ venom. It’ll take a minute but I can purge it from your system.”

You probably shouldn’t have taken such a strange explanation at face value, but you’d just seen a glowing monster with a fucked-up face try to eat you.

“That… that thing… with the teeth?” You were still having difficulty speaking, though for a different reason as he was running a hand down both of your arms, that itchy, prickling sensation making your muscles jump.

“Yeah, it’s called an_ Alp_ and it’s a real bastard,” he said in a very non-demonic kind of way. “Usually they’re not bold like this, feeding in the middle of a city.”

Objectively, you knew you should have been terrified, but mostly you were confused. This was going on way too long for a dream, plus the amount of detail was staggering. You’d had lucid dreams before, but nothing so vivid and present.

“Are you a demon?” you asked point blank. What else were you going to do? Dance around the topic while he worked his demon medicine magic or whatever on you?

His face, before rigid and lined with stoicism, seemed to soften at your question.

“Something like that.”

“I’m gonna need a little more detail.” You sounded much more calm than you had any reason to be.

He snorted through his nose and you stared up at him. You hadn’t known demons could have a sense of humor.

You must have said it aloud, or at least you hoped that was the case, because he responded. “I used to be just a normal guy, once. A long, long time ago.” His hands moved down your stomach now, tickling as the sharp tips of his claws lightly dragged across your sensitive skin. You would have squirmed if you could have.

You caught the scent again, the one that had to be coming from him. Piney and earthy, like a deep, dark wood. It comforted you but prodded at your mind again.

“Some people got ahold of me. Did experiments, rituals, crazy demonic stuff. They pumped me full of so many drugs I thought I was imagining the stuff I saw, and maybe I was, but considering everything that came after…” He trailed off and his eyes seemed to lose their focus. His hands were stilled along the curves of your hips, and you were practically vibrating in your skin but he seemed not to notice.

“I got away from them, or more accurately, I was rescued,” he continued, finally moving his hands away from your hips. The tingling grew more intense the longer his touch lingered, to the point you were sure lightning was going to start shooting from your fingers.

“Thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. They… caught me again. Finished their work and made me into this thing. Their weapon.” His voice cracked at the last word and your heart hurt for him. It seemed you were taking the phrase _sympathy for the_ _devil_ quite literally.

“What happened then?” you quietly asked. The small, bitter smile that crossed his face did not comfort you.

“I escaped the only way I could.” The sudden tension of his jaw should have told you to drop it but your curiosity got the better of your sensibilities.

“How?”

He didn’t look at you, instead focused where his hands were tracing along your knees. The heavy paralysis was almost entirely gone now, but you were just enthralled by his touch and his voice.

“I killed myself.”

Your shock rendered you silent, the blood draining from your face. His eyes were still fastened on your legs and he continued to talk, his voice low and strained.

“Well, I mean, I put myself in a situation that I couldn’t survive. Same thing, right? They didn’t realize, didn’t anticipate how I would react after they… they made me hurt someone. Someone I knew. Back when I was still a man. I had orders to kill him, and I couldn’t disobey, I couldn’t.”

His voice trembled and he went quiet for a moment, his hands still on your shins. At first you thought he was staring at your legs, but you realized he was glaring at his own hands, a look of pure loathing in his blue eyes.

You wished you could reach out and touch him, comfort him somehow, but you remained where you were. Touching a strange demon was probably some kind of taboo in demon society.

“It did something to me, snapped me out of it or woke me up. For a moment, I was in control again. And I did what I had to.” His voice was soft as he began to work his fingers across your skin, freeing your muscles as he went. “Unfortunately, I was more demon than man at that point, so I didn’t see any pearly gates. I went to the other place, and as bad as that was, it was still preferable to… before.”

You listened quietly and your heart hurt more with every word. This was the strangest and most terrifying night of your life, but listening to his nightmarish experiences coupled with his soft, soothing voice, made you forget all about your own problems. You didn’t know how, but you could sense it was all true, all very real and horrifying. You wished you could help him, or at least pay him back for saving you, but you had no idea how to help a demon.

It was strange. You weren’t relaxed, not at all with his fingers and palms still massaging your skin, but you weren’t afraid. Actually, you didn’t think you’d been afraid since the nightmare creature had vanished.

You wondered if the demon had killed it. You decided it was better not knowing, and besides, there were other much more interesting questions you wanted to ask.

“So… how _does_ one escape Hell?” You tried to keep your tone chipper, but your nerves shone through like a beacon.

“Well…” That faint hint of a smile again. “There are ways to return to the physical plane, as it turns out. There are weak pockets in the world, vortexes and veils and stuff like that, but that’s not how I did it. A group of silly little girls one day decided to open a portal using a Ouija board, and I was able to come through.”

He looked at you meaningfully. You could suddenly hear the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

_No._

“One in particular, she wasn’t very smart, or maybe she was just really brave. She didn’t run when the others did. She just stood there and looked right at me as if she’d been waiting for me. Weird kid. Her luck hasn’t seemed to have improved in twenty years.”

It was impossible. There was no way, no_ possible_ way—

“I would have remembered you,” you blurted out. “I don’t. I remember the Ouija board, I remember us screaming and running out of the house for no apparent reason. I don’t remember any demons. _I would have remembered you.”_

At the sound of your stubborn insistence, he gave a genuine smile, one with pearly white teeth. You thought you saw sharp edges before he hid them again.

“You don’t remember because I didn’t want you to remember. That sort of thing changes you forever, scars you for life, and you were just an innocent. Plus, I wasn’t the only thing that came through.” His hands curled over your feet, rubbing the last of the paralysis from the soles. “You’ve had a lot of nasty stuff following you over the years, Y/N. You have no idea what I’ve protected you from.”

He didn’t look at you when he said it, but ice shot up your spine despite the pleasant heat that basked across your skin. Not from the fact you may have released some demonic critters into the world, or the fact he somehow knew your name, but the knowledge he had been following you for most of your life.

“Why would you protect me?” Your voice sounded small, but in that moment you felt small too.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re a—“ You stopped short and bit the inside of your cheek.

“I told you, I wasn’t always a demon.” To your relief, he didn’t sound angry. A little annoyed, maybe, but not offended or mad. “You were a little kid that had attracted the attention of some dangerous beings. What was I supposed to do, leave you to fend for yourself?”

“I donno,” you snapped in your distress. Someone had been watching you for years and you’d had no idea. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. It was best to play it safe and not piss off the demon in the room. “Really. This is really strange and I need some time to just… process.”

You heard the soft snort-laugh again. At least he found you amusing.

“Understandable. All done.” His touch lift from your skin and he moved away from the bed.

You nearly sighed with relief but managed to stay quiet as you stretched your fingers and moved your legs. Everything seemed to be in working order; no, you actually felt much _better._ The headache from your hangover was gone, and you could have sworn everything seemed sharper and clearer, even your sense of smell.

You concentrated on that familiar scent, the one that pleasantly filled the room with his presence, and you realized now exactly _wher_e you had smelled it before. He was right. That silly little ritual you had done with your friends, the Ouija board and the black candles. You remembered something had spooked you, but you didn’t know what it was.

Now, you did.

“Huh.” You looked up at him from where you were perched on the edge of your bed. “So, are you like, my guardian demon now?”

He raised his eyebrows at your cavalier tone, his arms crossed across his large chest.

“You woke up in the middle of an_ Alp_ feeding, found out that demons are real, and that’s your most pressing question?”

_“No,”_ you answered stubbornly. You tilted your head to the side, peering at him carefully now that you could see him better in the dark. His feet weren’t even remotely human; he was standing on the balls of his feet, his toes clawed and his feet sloped upward like a canine’s or possibly a feline’s. You couldn’t see past the bottom of his sweatpants, but you would have guessed from the shape that his knees tilted forward while his ankle was exaggerated toward the back. There was definitely a tail present, long and dark as it swayed behind his legs. When your eyes drew upward towards his face, his wings shifted restlessly and the muscles of his jaw were thrown in sharp relief.

“I do have a pressing question, in fact.” You paused for dramatic effect, doing your best to keep a straight face. “What’s your name?”

He took a slow, deep breath, and expelled it just as methodically.

“You’re kidding. Right?”

“What, you can’t tell me?” Against your better judgement, you smirked at him. Now that the danger had passed and you weren’t going to be a meal for a glowing monster, you had rediscovered your curiosity and excitement for this strange being. “Is it against the demon code of ethics to give me your name? Will that give me some kind of power over you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

You patiently waited for his answer, willing to wait all night if you had to. He released a breath and shifted from one foot to the other.

“Bucky.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspecting he was tricking you.

“What’s a Bucky? Is that some kind of demonic spell?”

You were rewarded with an amused half-smile. It changed the entire structure of his face, brightening his eyes and making them crinkle at the corners.

“It’s my name. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky for short.”

You screwed up your face. “Not a very hellish name. I thought it would be something like Beelzebub or Azazel or Crowley.”

His lips formed into a frown that was more than a little disapproving. You didn’t let that stop you now that you had the ball rolling.

“If I released you from Hell twenty years ago, where have you been until now? Just… like, sitting outside my window?”

Bucky narrowed his own gaze and said, very slowly, “No. I do have a life outside of trying to keep you alive and intact.”

Now it was your turn to look skeptical, making a point of looking him up and down from horned head to clawed toe.

“Looking like that?”

He sighed through his nose. Only you could annoy a demon.

“Obviously not. Watch.”

Making sure your gaze was on him, he tightened his jaw and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, something in the air seemed to shift and the demonic features began to fade away, leaving him without horns, wings, a tail, and with perfectly normal ears and legs.

The thing you were gaping at was none of those things, it was his left arm, or rather, the air that occupied where it had once been. The limb was entirely gone, leaving a hard cusp of a shoulder with the red pentagram still visible.

You stood up from the bed and slowly walked toward him, but the illusion or magic or whatever it was held steady. You reached out to touch him, but when he actually flinched back, you let your arm fall back at your side.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for, that you had startled him or that all of this had happened to him in the first place.

“It’s… okay.” He shifted on his feet again. It must have been a nervous tick by how often he did it, but when you raised your eyes upward he was staring very intently into your face. You hadn’t realized how close you were until that moment, barely a foot between you.

Whatever he had done began to reverse, slowly enough for you to watch. His intense gaze never wavered as he did so, perhaps he was waiting to see if you would back away or flinch. You did neither, fascinated as you watched his ridged horns grow above his ears, his wings unfurling and stretching before curling against his back.

Suddenly, you wondered what kind of life he had apart from watching over you. Did he have a demon job? A demon house? A demon girlfriend?

You frowned. The questions had been funny until… they weren’t.

“So, uh… why was that _Alp_ thingie here?” you asked in an attempt to change the subject. “You said they’re not usually in the city, right? Why would it be here?”

He gave a half-shrug, a perfectly ordinary gesture that looked strange on him. It made his wings rustle, and they sounded like pieces of old leather rubbing together.

“When there is no room left in hell, the dead will walk the earth,” he said in perfect calmness. You had no idea what that meant but it sounded wildly alarming.

“Uh-huh. Is that why you were able to come through? Are you… still dead?” You winced at your rude question but it was too late to take back now.

He exhaled sharply through his nose again, but this time also offered a smile that was gentle but heartbreakingly sad.

“I think I died a long time ago, to be honest. Long before I went to Hell.”

“Oh.” Your heart sank. How was it you were so socially awkward even when speaking to a supernatural being?

“Look, this has been… interesting. But we shouldn’t be speaking. It’s not safe for you.” He ran a hand, the human one, through his hair in a nervous gesture. You didn’t know demons could feel discomfort.

“Because of those people who did this to you?” A stone formed in your stomach when he nodded.

“_I’m_ not safe for you, either,” he added in a softer tone. From the way his wings drooped, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, and the tail hanging listless by his leg, you knew he genuinely believed it.

Suddenly, ridding that haunted look from his face seemed very, very important.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

His eyes darted upward to yours, tilting his head at your impromptu confession. Your cheeks heated as you rushed to explain.

“I mean, I have more questions! Are there more monsters like the _Alp_? What about other demons? Will something else come after me? Like, you can’t just _leave,_ I need to, to understand this. What else is out there? Are angels real? What about Heaven? Is this permanent or can you be like, exorcised? How does it work—“

He held up a palm, the demonic one, and you fell silent. From the twitch at the corner of his lips he seemed almost amused by your questions, but there was also a deep sadness in his eyes.

“I can’t stay. I’ve stayed way too long already. But before I go…” He took a step towards you. “I have to do something. Something I did before.”

You blinked, not expecting that.

“I’m sorry?”

He frowned at your tense expression or maybe the hostility in your tone. “I’m going to erase your memories. I don’t have a choice—“

_“No!”_

Panic swept through you when you fully realized what he was saying. You didn’t understand any of this, whether it was magic or strange science or what, but you didn’t doubt he could do what he said, especially if he had done it before.

You stepped backwards and he followed after you, his expression resigned as he stalked forward. The back of your legs hit the bed and you were trapped.

“You can’t make me forget, not again!”

His hands stretched out for you but you scrambled onto the bed, standing on top of it just out of reach. A tired sigh escaped his mouth.

“Come down from there.”

“I won’t!” Your lip was trembling but you fought down the tightness in your throat. “You can’t make me forget. You can’t. I _have_ to remember this. You don’t understand!”

The crease of his brow deepened but his mouth was sloped into a puzzled frown.

“You’ve already seen more than you should have, more than what’s_ healthy_ for anyone to see. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be exposed to this stuff when you’re not prepared for it—“

“But I am!” You swept your arms across the expanse of the room, your gestures nearly wild with desperation. “I am prepared for it! I’ve been waiting for something like this my entire life!”

Your unexpected confession caught you off-kilter, and from his wide eyes, you’d done the same to him.

“Please,” you pleaded. You hated the quiver in your voice, the desperate force of your emotions as you saw too clearly all of this slipping away into nothingness. “Please don’t take this away from me. I can handle it, really, it’s not a big deal. I won’t tell anyone and I won’t freak out. I’m—I’m used to weird stuff happening to me.”

Bucky sounded defeated as he said, “I know.”

He expanded his wings and flapped once, half-leaping half-flying up onto the bed. You gave an indignant squawk and flailed backwards; you would have fallen if he hadn’t caught you in time. His hands kept your arms at your sides and his bat-like wings curled around you, boxing you in and leaving no room for escape.

His pale blue eyes captured you on the spot and you were helpless to do anything more than shiver and breathe way too fast. You knew he wasn’t human but you weren’t prepared for how fast he was and the sheer strength in his hands. It was stupid to think you were ever in control of the situation. That you had any choice in what happened next.

Before you could even think to struggle, he pressed the pad of his left thumb between your eyes. A jolt shot through your skull, and you thought, _this is it_, he was going to take your memories and you’d never know there was anything more to life than a boring office job and lonely, empty nights.

It was tantamount to robbing you of your hope, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

Your vision swam, strange and blurry, but you were still awake, perfectly aware, and that jolt of electricity morphed into a warm, soothing sensation. It was an echo of the feeling you’d had before when he’d slowly unfrozen your limbs. It didn’t just thrum across your skin this time; it flowed down your muscles and up your spine in a river of undulating sensation.

You’d once been put on laughing gas for dental surgery before, and it felt a bit like that, except dialed up to eleven. You also didn’t particularly remember being aroused while on laughing gas, either, but now the desire slammed into you like a truck.

It felt as if you’d never been touched in your life, never kissed or held or satisfied, and you felt like you were going to go insane if you didn’t… But no, Bucky _was _touching you, his hands on both of your arms, his expression intense in a way that made you feel like trapped prey before a hungry shark.

“That wasn’t…” His breath sounded strained, his blue eyes wide. “That wasn’t supposed to…”

You stopped listening to his voice (when had it become so velvety?) and put your hands outward, blatantly running your fingers across the firm muscles of his pectorals. He sucked in a breath at your touch but you continued to explore, your head light and filled with cotton. The term _skin hungry_ popped into your head, and it would have been funny if it hadn’t described exactly what you were experiencing. You wanted him to devour you whole.

You expected him to lash out, after all he had been trying to wipe your mind a moment ago and now you were acting like an animal. You didn’t understand it, a part of you knew this was wrong, but all you could think about was how much you craved his touch.

When you looked up into his face, his eyes were black pools, the blue irises completely gone, and his lips were pulled into a silent snarl. He had never looked less like a man than in that moment, a fatal reminder that whatever he had been before, he wasn’t human now.

A normal person would have screamed and ran from the room, but why would you even dream of doing such a thing? He was fascinating, breathtaking, and he was practically right here in your bed.

Your hands delved lower, fingertips dancing over sculpted ridges of his abs. You’d never been so bold before, but you didn’t hesitate now, even when you reached the waistband of his sweats. Biting your tongue, you lowered your hand under the elastic band.

His shaft was wide and unnaturally long. Soft indents trailed along the underside of his cock where the vein should be. You continued downward and felt two bulbous-like protrusions at the base. You had no idea what the hell they were, but you didn’t care, not at all—all you wanted was for him to be inside of you, stretching you out until you couldn’t fucking_ breathe_.

Bucky gripped your wrists tightly and yanked them away. His expression was thunderous. Your heart beat frantically in your chest as you squirmed, not away from him but toward him, desperate for his touch as if you’d never wanted anything else in your entire life. You pressed yourself against the hard planes of his body, a needful whine in your throat as the sensation of him between your layers of clothing was enough to increase the pressure in your core. Heat pooled low in your belly as your skin seemed to heat by several degrees.

With a sharp growl, he swept your legs out from under you with an easy flick of his tail. You expected to fall back and hit your head on the headboard or the wall, but he caught you within the scoop of his wings and followed you down onto the bed. He bared his sharp teeth at you, pulling his leathery wings out from under you and expanding them wide, towering over you in a display that was as intimidating as it was possessive.

Yes, that’s what it felt like; it was a warning but you didn’t feel like you were in danger. Even if you had been, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. In that moment, there was only one thing you wanted, and you hungered it with every fiber of your being.

You wanted to run your hands over the expanse of his wings, curl your fingers over the ridges of his horns and slide your hand along his tail. You couldn’t do any of those things, your hands trapped against his chest. You licked your dry lips and could have sworn you tasted his piney scent on the heaviness of the air.

“You’re_ beautiful_,” you whispered in complete and genuine awe.

Bucky blinked and stopped baring his teeth at you, and his wings slowly moved into a half-folded position. A heartbeat of time passed and his mouth was hard and rough on yours, devouring, swallowing up everything that you were and had ever been.

You breathed in sharply through your nose, lights switching inside your head and throughout your body. Everything felt too much and not enough as he roamed his hands over your body, breaking the kiss only once to yank your nightshirt over your head. He divested you of your pajama pants in an instant, the panties along with them, and you were naked so fast it barely registered.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth with dominant force and you willfully surrendered all control. You arched beneath him and wrapped your arms around his back, an open invitation for him to do whatever he desired.

You weren’t sure how, you certainly didn’t remember him undressing, but he was naked, every inch of his flesh against yours as his heavy bulk pressed you into the mattress. His skin was impossibly warm and you clung to him like a lost explorer in a snowstorm. You didn’t know such deep need could exist inside one person, but you felt if he didn’t fuck you _right now_ you would burst into flames.

As if knowing what you needed, he broke off from your lips and kissed down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sinfully licking the flesh. He lifted your leg with his gnarled hand, the tips of his claws digging into the tender flesh of your thigh. Something warm and hot prodded at your entrance and you pushed your hips up, whimpering as you wordlessly begged for what only he could give you.

Bucky pushed his hips forward, and despite his intimidating girth and ridges on his shaft, he slid into you as easily as if you were made for him. You were so slick that even the stretch didn’t hurt, only pulled you apart and filled you in a way that was too euphoric to be real. Tingling filled your body and a deep heat settled in your core, more satisfying than any orgasm you’d ever felt. It was so much more than sex, though what it was you couldn’t begin to describe.

Now that he was seated deep inside you, the ridges along the underside of his cock were very present, rubbing against your sensitive walls even at rest. The bulbous protrusions at the base stretched your entrance to a degree that should have been agony but all you felt was a deep, slowly throbbing pressure.

He moaned something against your neck, not your native language and definitely not Latin, it didn’t sound like words a human tongue could make. A tremble raced down your spine and you gripped him tighter, one hand planted between the joints of where his wings joined his shoulder blades. The other you curled into his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp. He groaned sharply and snapped his hips forward, trying to push deeper even though it was impossible.

_“Meum est,”_ he growled, teeth grazing against the column of your throat.

“Yes,” you breathed out. You didn’t what he had said but understood the gist of it from his tone. “Please, yes.”

He released another deep growl and pulled himself up into a half-crouch, half-sitting position, looming over you. His dark hair hung in his eyes but not enough to block out the pinpricks of glowing red in his pupils.

You swallowed reflexively but tipped your head back, offering your throat to him. His eyes glowed brighter and his lips curled back to expose sharp teeth. You didn’t know if he was going to eat you, fuck you, or both.

He planted his hands on either side of your head, pulled back his hips, and thrust forward hard. Sparks exploded all over your body as your nerves fired, sparking in aftershocks even after Bucky had stopped moving. He thrust into you again and you broke, unable to remain silent as you cried out in need.

At that noise he seemed to lose what little control he had left and he began to drive his hips into yours, hard and merciless. The friction of his ridged cock dragging against your walls immediately sent you racing toward the edge, and you arched your back and death-gripped the bedsheets in your trembling fingers.

His fingers snatched into your hair and wrenched your head back even further as his lips fastened onto your throat, his tongue and teeth stealing what little breath you had left. You couldn’t get enough air, you were drowning, but oxygen seemed so unimportant at the moment.

His breath was harsh and growing more uneven by the second, but he continued his brutal pace, claiming every inch of you with each thrust. You felt something slither and tighten around your calf, his tail holding your leg around his waist. Bucky was pinning and trapping you in every possible way, and there was no question who you belonged to.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a wave, sweeping you over and under and leaving you lost and disoriented. Startling images flashed in your mind, faraway places you’d never seen before, and others that seemed impossible to exist. Kaleidoscopes of ineffable colors, oceans of glittering stars, and a world on fire where the physicality of it hurt your head as it passed before your eyes.

The strange visions were gone just as quickly and you were thrown back into your body, muscles writhing and a voice that didn’t sound like your own crying out as if she was being tormented.

The orgasm seemed to stretch on forever, lowering in intensity but still present as he fucked you through it. Bucky’s rhythm was barely recognizable at this point, the rolling of his hips desperate and uncontrolled, and he snarled against your throat as his muscles coiled. At the same moment there was deep throbbing in your core followed by an intense but not unpleasant heat. It felt like literal liquid fire, and you wondered if he would burn you from the inside-out. The burning faded to a low, simmering heat, and you felt it seep around his cock and drip down your skin and onto the bedsheets.

Bucky went completely still. He remained like that for a moment while you caught your breath, and you could tell from the rigidity of his muscles that he was distressed. You felt strange, wrung out and exhausted far beyond what should have been normal. Small alarm bells went off in your head but you were too tired to pay them much attention.

He pulled out of you very carefully in stark contrast to his earlier roughness, and he rolled onto his side beside you. His eyes (blue now, the black pools and red glow completely gone) searched your face frantically.

He took your chin in his hand and tipped it toward him, but he didn’t kiss you. The look on his face was borderline terrified.

“Did I hurt you?”

_Hurt _you? Why would he ask you that?

“No,” you mumbled. Your tongue was thick in your mouth, uncoordinated. “No, not hurt. At all. ‘M good.”

There was something fragile in his eyes and his lips trembled as he pressed them together. You’d seen a similar look when he had talked about before, with the man he’d been forced to feed on and kill.

“I’m so… so sorry.” His eyes were glassy now, as if he was on the verge of tears. “I shouldn’t have done that. I should have stopped myself. You weren’t supposed to…”

“Told you. I’m fine.”

He looked entirely unconvinced. You couldn’t bear the brittleness in his face any longer. You moved forward under his chin, tucking yourself against his chest as you pulled his arm around your waist. You pressed your nose against his neck, inhaling deeply to take in his piney scent. It was comforting and chased always all the anxious thoughts creeping in at the back of your mind.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t push you away or say anything, so you shut your eyes and hummed deep in your throat. He felt nice, really nice, and you could forget… forget about…

One minute, you were curled on your side, surrounded by a feeling of safety and warmth, and the next, you were opening your eyes to find the sunlight glaring through your open blinds.

You blinked and winced at the pain in your eyes. The blinds were definitely open. You remembered shutting them last night, or had you been too inebriated to…

_The sleep paralysis creature. Your cat fighting him off. The horrible smell, the feeling of helpless heaviness, and then…_

_Bucky._

You shot upward and looked around the room, frantic, but nothing was out of place. You stared down at yourself; your pajamas were wrinkled but definitely clothing you. Springing up from the bed, you ran into the bathroom and immediately pulled off your pajamas.

Your skin was pristine. There were no scratches or bruises or anything to indicate the night before had been… had been…

_No. No, no, no, it had been real, it had been real! It hadn’t been a dream, it couldn’t be._

You heard a soft pitter-pat behind you and whirled around, but it was only Monster, staring up at you expectantly, waiting for his breakfast as if this was any other first of November.

“Hobgoblin,” you said suddenly, remembering the word Bucky had used before. “That’s what you are.”

Monster tilted his head and released a loud and very obnoxious _mrrarrph!_

“I’m on to you,” you muttered and turned back to the mirror. “Can’t fool me.”

The longer you examined yourself and found lack of proof that a demon named Bucky existed, the more your heart sank. The creature with the teeth and the messed up face, you could definitely do without. But denying that part would be to deny what came after.

And what_ had_ come after? Were you just imagining the feel of him touching you? Had it been some crazy fever dream after all, or had you actually had sex with a demon?

Just when you were going to give up, you turned your shoulder and caught something odd in the mirror. You looked closer to try and make out what it was.

A faint red pentagram star was etched into your skin. Just like Bucky’s, only faded and on your right shoulder instead of your left. You traced your fingers over the skin and felt nothing but smoothness. It didn’t hurt and didn’t feel like the skin had been damaged, but it was definitely discolored, as if tattooed or the injury went down into the muscle.

_Marked._

You didn’t know where the thought came from, and it hadn’t been the first strange idea to pop into your head since last night, but you also knew it was true. You were Marked, whatever that meant.

No, you _did_ know what it meant. It meant you were his and no one else’s, a fact you understood without having to be told.

Perhaps you should have been terrified, but you were only confused as to what would happen now. There was no point in crying or panicking, not when what happened last night was real and too late to take back. What was exposed on your skin was what you had felt for your entire life: you had been waiting for someone. Maybe it had been Bucky all along, and you’d been marked for his as soon as you’d opened the gateway.

A shiver shot up your spine. One thing was for certain. James Buchanan Barnes was real, and it was only a matter of time before he returned for what was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Latin Translations:
> 
> Pax - Peace, truth, goodwill  
Relinquam - Leave  
Tutum Est - It is safe
> 
> Some additional notes:
> 
> 1\. Hobgoblins are cat-adjacent creatures from an original story I'm collaborating on with a friend. No one knows what they really are or what they look like, but for some reason, they're very potent against evil magic and love pretending to be cats.
> 
> 2\. The Alpe are from German folklore, and I took the visual description from the show Grimm. Do a search for them, they're terrifying.


	2. Liminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing to understand what had happened that night, you goes on a quest for knowledge and discover a few new things about the demon named James Buchanan Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask for demon Bucky and ye shall receive. In other words, I caved to peer pressure. But that's okay, I need to write this story for myself just as much as you guys it turns out.
> 
> That being said, this was supposed to be a one-shot so I didn't really think ahead and I painted myself into a bit of a corner. For what I have planned, I had to go back to chapter 1 and fix some of the dialogue.
> 
> Quick summary of the change so you don't have to go back: Bucky broke free of HYDRA's control, at least for a few crucial seconds, after retrieving Howard's serum. The act of killing Howard and Maria Stark made him rebel against his handlers, so he actually died in December 1991 instead of in the 50's like I originally had it. That's basically it, not a huge change, but important for this and future chapters.
> 
> If you're curious what the Alp looks like, [here he is](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/grimm/images/7/7a/606-Alpe_mouth.png/revision/latest?cb=20170212062131). Proceed with caution if you are alone and in the dark.
> 
> I'm working on this for Nano, so your thoughts and feelings are very much appreciated as I still flesh out this fic while descending into panic mode.
> 
> Enough from me. I'll try and keep my notes shorter from here on out. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Mild sexual content

Going to work seemed like an insurmountable task. You were exhausted down to your bones and it would have been so much easier to just call in sick, but you knew if you did you would just sit there, letting your mind race with questions you didn’t have answers to. At least if you went to work, you wouldn’t be alone with your frantic thoughts and your crushing anxiety.

So instead of staying home, you pulled on your dark pantsuit and blouse, dragged yourself out to your car, and drove to your office building. You went about your routine as usual: parked in a free space, dug the keycard lanyard out of your purse and slipped it over your head, and got out of your car and walked up to the building. You swiped your keycard and it let you in without incident.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, some sign perhaps that the world was different now that you knew there was more to it all than what could be seen on the surface. To your disappointment, everything was the same. The drab break room, the sad kitchenette, the bad fluorescent lights and the monochromatic grey carpet. Your typical standard fair for a soulless corporate office building, a constant reminder to its employees that they couldn’t escape the monotony no matter where they looked.

You made a beeline for your cubicle, head down and rubbing at your tired eyes when you knocked into something solid. Hands gripped your shoulders and you looked up. Your stomach sank like a boulder.

“Hey,” Davin greeted you. He scanned your face and frowned. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” you responded quickly, hyperaware that his hands were still on your shoulders.

“Yeah? That’s good.” He finally let you go and you could breathe again. “You get home okay last night?”

You shifted the strap of your purse on your shoulder, a distraction from your churning stomach.

“Yeah… why wouldn’t I?” You couldn’t hide the suspicion in your tone but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, I just, saw you drinking last night and wondered if you caught a ride with anyone.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care, and yet, he was still talking to you. In fact, he was practically blocking your cubicle. Had he been waiting for you?

“Uh, yep. Took an Uber.” You shifted again, wanting him to leave, but a small part of you, the part that still stung at the way he had snubbed you at the Halloween party, made you speak up. “You and Theresa looked like you had fun.”

His eyes slightly widened and satisfaction curled in your chest at his shock. His mouth hung open as he prepared to respond but seemed at a loss for words. You had always been the quiet one in the office and he clearly hadn’t expected you to call him out so blatantly.

Considering the ordeal you had just gone through, you couldn’t find it within yourself to give a shit.

“Eh, not really,” he confessed, rubbing a hand through his hair, messing up the blond locks that were usually perfectly coifed. “We just hung out for a bit, but that’s all. Tried to look for you afterwards, but I guess you left already.”

You stared at him, expression completely blank.

“Anyway.” He cleared his throat and pushed off from where he had been leaning against the wall of your cubicle. “You sure you’re okay? You look tired.”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you muttered as you brushed past him. You were beyond done with this conversation that was for goddamn sure. He didn’t leave, though, still standing to the entrance to your workspace. You pulled a tight smile and added, “I have lots of work to get done before the weekend, so…”

“Right, course. Talk to you later.” He returned the smile with perfect teeth and bright green eyes. You’d been completely enamored with that smile up until yesterday, mooning over him every time he would look your way. Now, you never see a pair of green eyes again unless they belonged to your cat.

Finally, his silhouette disappeared around the corner of your cubicle wall and you couldn’t be happier. _What the hell is his deal?_

You turned your thoughts away from your former-crush and focused on your work, pulling up your emails and going through what you had missed from the morning announcements. Just some meetings that didn’t involve your department and you deleted them quickly. After you determined there was nothing immediate to attend to, you got up and made a cup of coffee in the breakroom. By the time you returned, your thoughts had wandered into dangerous territory.

Pushing them aside, you typed away at your keyboard as you audited and adjusted medical insurance claims. It was tedious work but you were grateful because it kept the power on and made sure Monster had four square meals a day. Five, if he was being especially whiney, because you were spineless when it came to his pitiful meows and he knew it too. He had earned his name.

Of course, there were other things about Monster that made him special. He seemed to know when you were getting sick or feeling depressed. In those moments, he would jump in your lap and refuse to budge. He also acted odd when you had company, which in your small social circle usually just meant maintenance people or food deliverers.

Most cats would run and hide, but Monster would sit on his haunches and watch them as intently as if they were sparrows flittering from tree to tree, his eyes wide and his pupils pulled into narrow slits. More than one repair guy had commented on the uncanny stare. Once when your mom had been visiting, she’d almost broken a water glass she had dropped onto the carpet, stating Monster had scared her half to death when she’d turned around. The light had been reflecting off his eyes in an ‘eerie, demonic way.’

At the time, you’d thought your mom was just being dramatic. Now, however…

You realized your fingers were motionless on the keyboard and had been for some time. You chewed your lip and leaned backward to see if anyone was around. No one was paying attention to you, bent over at their own workstations, so you scooted closer to your desk and closed down the program. You opened the internet browser and began to type.

An hour later, you were still clicking through pages as you read through them. You’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be working, mind reeling as you took in the information you had discovered.

Hobgoblins were, apparently, helpful spirits that resembled small, hairy men. On a few occasions you’d called Monster “little man” because it had been funny, but you were sure that’s not what they meant. Ultimately, useless.

The search for the _Alp _had been slightly more productive. The _Alpen_ were from German folklore and were known to attack sleeping victims and create nightmares from their dreams. The hairs on your nape stood up when you read that they like to sit on the chests of their victim, weighing them down so they can’t breathe. When you looked at the drawing of one, however, you released a breath and rubbed your forehead. The _Alp_ looked like a squat elf with a conical hat on its head. You wished you had been attacked by a garden gnome wearing a dunce cap—Monster could have easily handled the problem, then.

You almost brushed it off as another completely useless wiki page until a line caught your eye.

_The _Alp_, in many cases, is considered a demon…_

Your mouth went dry and you closed the page, sitting there for a long moment.

Should you search for it? Surely you wouldn’t find anything. It couldn’t be as simple as that.

You opened the browser again and hesitated, fingertips hovering over the keys. You thought about typing “demon” into the search bar, but you knew that would be less than helpful considering how many millions of hits you would get.

Instead, you put your fingers down and typed: _James Buchanan Barnes._

You didn’t expect as many hits as you did. You certainly didn’t expect that they would be relevant. Your eyes were glued to the screen as the world around you faded away, your thoughts consumed.

Another hour went by and you had a small stack of papers you had pulled from the office printer. You knew it was pointless when you could simply screenshot or use the browser on your phone, but you felt better having physical proof of what you’d found. You needed to hold the sheaths of pages in your hands because your mind kept trying to tell you there was _no possible way_ what you were seeing was correct.

You eventually returned to the mundanity of your job, but your body ran on muscle memory to complete your work while your mind retreated to disseminate the information you’d found.

The workday was slow and arduous; at least it was Friday. When it was time to clock out and leave, you didn’t have to worry about returning in the morning. Besides cleaning the bathroom and binge-watching some shows, your entire weekend lay open before you. You knew exactly what you wanted to do with it—go through the entire stack of papers you had slipped into an empty folder and now carried out under your arm as you exited the towering office building.

New York was unusually cold this time of year, and you wrapped your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you got in your dinky little car. The drive was frustrating and slow, all the other nine-to-fivers trying to get home at the same time you were. You wished you lived closer so you could take the subway, but your apartment was so far it would have taken hours to get back home. So you dealt with traffic, or more accurately, you suffered.

You made it back to your apartment in one piece and none too soon. Monster’s impatient meows were voiced from the other side of the door at the sound of your keys jangling against the lock. You had to insert your leg first through the door to block him and keep him from running outside in his enthusiasm to greet you.

“Yep, I see you. I’m right here. Get back, wild beast, let me in.”

Your cat ignored your insults and darted ahead of you to the kitchen. You gave a sweeping glance across the apartment but only Monster had been there to await your arrival. You were relieved.

Once Monster had been sated with a can of whitefish chow, you put your purse away and brought your folder of notes with you into the living room. You curled up on the cramped loveseat and pulled the couch blanket up to your chest, settling in to go over the notes in more detail now that you had the chance. You stared at the manila folder for a moment, gathering your courage before you opened it and began to parse through the printed pages.

It contained everything you could find on James Buchanan Barnes, which was quite a lot.

His childhood growing up in Shelbyville, Indiana. The move to New York. His history in the army during World War II. His connections to the Avenger known as Captain America. And finally, his death, or at least the date they thought he had died.

February 1st, 1945: killed in action while trying to capture a Swedish scientist working for a rogue faction of the Nazis. It didn’t take a genius to figure out these were the people who had performed demonic rituals on him, especially when you did a little digging into HYDRA’s history steeped in occultism.

There was nothing in the files about demonic rituals, though you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or relieved. There was certainly no shortage of other horrific things that had been done to Bucky, and being forced to become a demon might not have been the worst of it. The Winter Soldier files, released by the Black Widow after S.H.I.E.L.D. had been dismantled, painted a tapestry of blood and horror. Even some of those files had been heavily redacted, entire pages missing from mission reports, and multiple referenced laboratory experiments were conspicuously absent.

But many other things were detailed, and each one made your stomach hurt worse than the last. Cryostasis chambers, memory suppressing machines, and a trail of bodies left in his wake. They had broken him, reprogrammed him, and used him as their personal weapon, carrying out assassinations from the ‘50s to when he’d been “decommissioned” by the Soviets in December of 1991.

That’s what they called it. _Decommissioning._ The public files, translated from Russian Cyrillic, stated he had been executed by his own handlers. Bucky had told you the truth about his fatal escape, but he’d failed to mention he’d been a HYDRA assassin for almost forty years.

You rubbed your forehead, pain beginning to emerge behind your eyes. It was a lot to take in, and going over it _ad infinitum_ was not going to make you feel any better.

You still felt incredibly tired and had, in fact, gotten more exhausted over the course of the day. You figured you would be fine once you got some uninterrupted demon-less sleep. You put away the stack of papers on the coffee table, stood up and stretched. Monster had been watching you from his spot on his cardboard scratcher, and he followed you to the bathroom.

You ran the bath and stripped off your clothes, frowning as you saw the mark on your shoulder. You could have sworn it looked more filled in, the red color a little brighter. You ran a cursory finger over the pentagram but felt nothing unusual, so you turned off the water and carefully got into the filled bathtub.

The warm water felt wonderful as it settled over your tense muscles, but now you were left alone with your thoughts. There were so many reasons you didn’t want to think about the night before, and not all of them involved dream-eating monsters or demonic guardians.

The most frightening aspect of the previous night had been your behavior. Your terror at the _Alp_ had been the last normal emotion you’d had that evening. When faced with Bucky, you hadn’t been afraid or even shocked. Maybe it had been an after-effect of your earlier terror, but it didn’t feel that way. You remembered being… almost blasé about the whole thing.

Sure, you’d always been fascinated with monsters and magic, but that didn’t mean you could come face-to-face with the supernatural and handle it rationally. You might have loved spooky stuff but you still got startled and screamed at jump scares and horror movies.

The way you had acted with Bucky had been abnormal, even for you. It was more than curiosity; it was that strange familiarity, like you were drawn to him. Was it possible some part of you remembered him from your supposed lost childhood memories? Maybe. It would explain why you hadn’t been scared of him.

But it wouldn’t have explained what had come after.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to remember each instant of what had happened. He’d told you he was going to take your memories away. You’d freaked out—at least that part had been more like yourself—and then you’d tried to get away from him. He’d grabbed and held you. There had been a jolt through your head, and then you’d gotten very hot all over, like someone had set a heat lamp to bask over your skin.

Laughing gas. That’s right, you thought you’d felt high as a damn kite. More than that, you had felt… not euphoric, exactly. Extremely sensitive. Hungry for physical touch. It was like you’d been doused with a potent aphrodisiac. Yes, that’s exactly what it had felt like.

You remembered looking up at Bucky and seeing his surprise, but there had been something else too. His eyes, they’d turned completely black, and you hadn’t even cared. You ran your hands over him like if you stopped you would simply perish on the spot. Even now you could feel an echo of that desperation, beyond physical need into something that felt like soul-deep starvation.

God, the way he had reacted, it had been… well, it had been a complete one-eighty from earlier. Bucky had been kind, perhaps a little awkward, but nothing about his actions at the beginning had led you to believe he was there to seduce you. Quite the opposite; when your gaze had lingered on him too long he would shuffle nervously and avert his eyes.

So, for him to just, just throw you on the bed like that, and…

Your thoughts danced away from that part of the night, skittish like a flighty horse. It hadn’t been the first time you’d avoided that topic, you’d been doing it all day, but your mind was continually drawn back to wanting to remember what Bucky had felt like, pressing you into the mattress and—

Growling in agitation, you sped the memories forward, skipping over the gist of it until you got to the literal out-of-this-world orgasm. What the hell had_ that_ been about? The things you had seen felt like someone dreaming while on an acid trip. Impossible colors, oceans of stars, and what looked suspiciously like Hell itself. Had it truly been real, or had it been a side effect of what Bucky had… had done to…

_He did this to me, _you finished the thought unwillingly. It must have been him. He had seemed concerned afterwards, yes, but he hadn’t been confused. It was because he understood exactly what had happened.

Did he know about the mark? He must know, this was his world and he had dragged you into it, unprepared, leaving you to deal with it on your own.

You were pulled from the dregs of your agitation when you realized the water had grown cold, your skin shriveled unpleasantly. You sighed and reached forward, removing the plug from its drain.

Anger was fine, you could deal with anger. Even confusion was manageable. It was fear that you didn’t want to feel. You didn’t want to be afraid of Bucky, but the fact of the matter was, maybe you should be.

After toweling off and putting on a clean pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt, you cautiously entered your bedroom. Once a sanctuary, it felt like you were walking unwittingly into the lion’s den. Your body seemed to realize the same thing: as soon as you approached your bed, your heart began to race. Visions of the_ Alp_ weren’t far behind, stalking after you so strongly that you actually checked over your shoulder. The hallway was empty, even of Monster who should have been waiting for you outside the bathroom. Instead, he was leaving you to face your dem—

_No,_ you wouldn’t even _think_ that word, not in this room and not so close to where you’d been attacked by the thing with green teeth and foul breath. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pulled back the covers and carefully crawled into bed. You also tried not to think about Bucky as you lay there; the memories were just as distracting but in an entirely different way.

You closed your eyes and a few moments later the heaviness of sleep began to pull you under. You drifted down into the darkness, weightless and floating. Alone. You shouldn’t have been alone. You were lost, separate, searching…

You reached out and touched something warm and solid. You sighed with relief as the scent of rich earth and fragrant pine surrounded you. Heat flooded your body, embracing you within its fiery flames. You let it lick up your skin, consuming you with the fury of a forest fire. Destructive and inevitable.

It was stronger now, the pressure of him stretching you to impossible fullness, how it should have hurt and instead was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt. You needed him deeper, filling you up, but it wasn’t enough anymore, you needed him to push you over the edge and then,_ then_ you could finally give him what he needed—

You were so close, _so _close, _it was right there—_

A throb pulsed through your core and you awoke with a start, sitting up so fast your head spun. Your room was dark, you were alone, but your heart still raced as you fully expected Bucky to be right next to you. Your breath was shaky as your limbs trembled, the aftereffects of your swift orgasm leaving you flushed and mortified.

You hadn’t had a wet dream since you were a teenager. _What the fuck?_

Unable to remain there a second longer, you got out of bed and sped to the bathroom as fast as you could without actually running. You cleaned yourself up with shaky hands and got a fresh pair of underwear and pajama pants. Your right shoulder felt uncomfortably warm, but you didn’t look at it, afraid of what you would see. You’d had enough scares for one night.

You turned on the living room light to find Monster already there, sitting on his scratcher again. He stared up at you with half-lidded eyes, looking pleased as if he’d known it was only a matter of time before you showed up. You found his presence instantly soothing, so you didn’t hold his smugness against him.

You lied down on the couch and pulled the blanket over you, shivering from the cold. Monster leapt onto the sofa with you and plopped down on your legs. You breathed easier, his weight a comforting second blanket. Hobgoblin, cat, or whatever he was, it didn’t matter; he was family and he’d proven himself a hundred times over. Besides, the idea of Monster being an _actual _monster was too ironic for you not to appreciate.

It took longer this time, but eventually you drifted off to sleep. The memory of icy blue eyes and a face framed with dark hair never far from your dreams.


	3. Brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky screwed up, bad. He has no choice but to seek allies for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Bucky POV chapter for you all :) Let me know what you think.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Cursing, mild sexual content, demon!Bucky is cranky

  


20 hours earlier

Bucky was fortunate he didn’t have anything breakable on his rooftop, because the speed with which he landed would have sent any chairs or decorations spiraling across the deck. When his clawed feet touched down he nearly collapsed onto his knees. He managed to clumsily stumble to the stairway, leading down to a thick door that led to his home. He hadn’t bothered to lock it—only someone with the ability to fly could reach his rooftop.

The clock tower was dark, bathed in shadow, but he didn’t turn on any of the lights. Instead, he went straight to the kitchen and shakily filled a glass in the sink, downing it in one go. Bucky hoped it would steady him; give him something to focus on, because right now bone-deep fear was coursing through him so fast his head spun.

Fear of what he had done. Fear of what he almost did. It could have gone worse, much worse, but it had still gone terribly wrong. He hadn’t meant for any of it to happen, nor did he know _how_ the fuck it had happened. He’d wiped memories before, once with her when she was a child, and many times again with other people he didn’t want remembering his face.

Not only had his abilities _not_ worked, he had somehow miraculously instigated a full-blown _heat _of all goddamn things.

He filled another glass and drained that one too. His stomach was starting to ache but he ignored it. The demon part of him, the part that had been sated from feeding, felt sluggish and satisfied like the metaphorical cat that’d eaten the canary. Even though nothing had physically changed, he had felt like an engorged, overfed mosquito afterwards, swaying clumsily on the freezing wind as he flew back home.

Bucky didn’t know what had gone wrong. He’d taken the necessary precautions, done everything in his power to lower the risk of being near people. Bucky shouldn’t need to feed anymore—he hadn’t experienced a heat in nearly twenty years—and he’d certainly never had a feeding like _that_.

It hadn’t just been the way he had fed from her that was different, the intensity was more than he remembered, all-consuming to the point he almost hadn’t stopped in time. He’d nearly destroyed the life of a person he’d been protecting for the better part of two decades.

How had this happened? How could Bucky have been so careless, so completely, unbelievably fucking _stupid _to think anyone could be safe around him?

No, no, he’d done the right thing. He’d felt her in trouble—his ability to passively keep tabs on her had worked, at least—and Bucky had stopped the_ Alp_ from feeding. The _Alpen_ were only dangerous against the ill and very elderly, but still, a demon was a demon, and this particular one had come through the portal with him. Most of the other escaped demons were dead by his hand; he had had no choice but to go to her, to protect her.

And then he’d ended up feeding on her himself. No self-control, no hesitation, and barely any restraint. Even now, he could feel the smooth expanse of her skin under his fingers, her specific and alluring scent washing over him like a tide, the clean, salty taste of her skin. She had felt so _good_ around, him, perfect and intoxicating, and the noises she’d made had been fucking _divine—_

The glass shattered in his hand.

He looked down as the pieces clattered into the sink, his armored hand completely unharmed by the exploding shards. But more alarming then the crushed glass was the fact he was hard again.

_Are you fucking kidding me?!_

He shouldn’t need to feed again, not so quickly and certainly not at all. The concoction had been working for two decades, why had it failed now? Even if this had been a normal feeding, and Bucky hadn’t been taking the equivalent of demon birth control, once should have been enough. Sometimes it wasn’t, especially if he was exhausted or injured.

Bucky wasn’t injured, but the concoction he took _did_ have nasty side effects, which… he realized too late, seemed to be fading. The feeding_ had_ healed him, but not fully, which meant he would need another feeding soon—

No. _No _fucking way. He was _not_ doing that again.

Bucky released his breath in a low exhale and tipped his palm, letting the rest of the mess tumble into the sink. He’d clean it up later; he had somewhere more pressing to be.

He did make a detour into the open space that was his bedroom. The floorplan of his home was spacious, and considering it had once been a functional clock tower, it made sense. The design was a strange mishmash between old, abandoned woodwork and modern technology. The kitchen, bathroom, and lights were all installed at the time he had moved in, while the other side of the tower was crossbeams and rickety stairs and old ironwork. Bucky had insisted they leave it there—it had reminded him of the drafty, cheap apartment he’d shared with Steve only a few blocks away.

Back before HYDRA had forced him to become this grotesque thing, anyway. Sometimes he wondered if he wanted the familiarity of his old life as a reminder he had once been human, or to remind himself he could never be human again. It depended on the day and Bucky’s current level of self-loathing.

Bucky hastily changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black Henley, removing the shirt and sweatpants he’d been wearing. He hadn’t had time to get dressed; Bucky had pretty much leapt out the window as soon as he’d felt a demonic presence close to her. For his next destination, he wanted to be dressed warmly at least.

He carefully threaded his wings through the holes cut out of the back of his top. There wasn’t time or energy to waste putting on his guise and taking a cab to Manhattan, so he went directly up to the clock tower roof again. Spreading his wings wide, he gave one massive flap and leapt from the edge. The leather webbing between the fingers of his wings caught the air, and he flew over the East River using a combination of hard flapping and angled gliding.

The Manhattan Bridge passed beneath him, the cars nothing more than tiny lights above the water. It took less than a minute to reach his destination and he touched down on the roof with heavy impatience. Softly glowing circular windows lined the rooftop, guiding his way as Bucky stalked toward the door that led to the rooftop access.

He wouldn’t be able to enter it without permission, so he grabbed the knocker and banged it against the door, not caring who he disturbed at this late hour. His previous fear was curdling into simmering anger, and he knew exactly where to aim it.

His ears perked as he heard footsteps two floors below, and he listened intently as they drew nearer. Bucky took a step back, his claws lightly scratching against the stone roof as he settled his weight on the balls of his feet.

The door opened and he blinked rapidly from the glaring lights beyond. After adjusting to the light he focused his vision on the person who had opened the door.

“Wong,” Bucky greeted flatly.

“Barnes,” the man responded, sounding about as pleased to see Bucky as Bucky was to be there. “You’re early.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said. “Where’s Strange?”

The bald sorcerer eyed him up and down, his brows tight and his lips drawn into a frown. Bucky didn’t blame him for his suspicion. Bucky didn’t blame anyone for their negative reactions to his presence, to be honest.

“He’s otherwise occupied at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?” He paused and added, “Are you sure you don’t need another dose?”

Bucky tried not to let his lips curl with displeasure, but they did, all the same.

“I need to speak to Strange. _Now.”_

Wong’s troubled expression deepened at Bucky’s tone. Usually, Bucky was nothing but polite to the man, even if he didn’t care for his boss. Tonight, however, Bucky was all out of patience and his desperation only made his anger worse.

“If you could tell me what this matter is about—“

“The last batch he gave me was bad,” Bucky cut him off. “It didn’t work.”

He could have sworn Wong’s skin took on a pale shade, and with good reason.

“Come in.” He stepped back and held the door open for him. Bucky walked past the sorcerer, trying to shorten his strides so it didn’t feel like he was stalking past like a hunting predator. With the way his feet were arched that was his natural walking rhythm, no matter how much he tried to correct it.

Bucky paused and moved aside, pulling his wings in tight against his back as he let Wong take the lead. The man gave him another cursory glance but said nothing more as he led Bucky deeper into the building.

Bucky’s first experience in this place had been highly traumatic, but afterwards he had mostly enjoyed his visits. The child within him, who Bucky had thought died long ago, had resurfaced, full of curiosity and awe at everything around him. Intricate tapestries lined the walls, complicated glyphs and designs were etched into the arches and baseboards of each massive room. Everything, from the banisters to the carpets to the golden lights, gave off a warm, fiery color that felt majestic rather than aggressive.

And then there was the artifact room. Bucky had only seen it a couple times, and he wished he had the chance to spend a whole day in there, reading the inscriptions of the magical items kept tucked away in massive trophy cases.

It was probably for the best he wasn’t allowed in there. The times he had passed through more than one object had awakened at his presence, whirring or clicking or turning toward him in a way that felt very judgmental considering they didn’t have faces.

While the human side of him was fascinated with every corner of the place, the demon part was always slightly agitated. The presence of hidden glyphs, in the walls or above certain doorways, made his skin crawl. On more than one occasion the hairs on his nape stood up for no apparent reason. Bucky couldn’t ever truly relax until he departed the Sanctum, which was a shame. He wished Steve could see this place.

Wong led Bucky to a foyer somewhere in the middle of the building, well-lit and without windows. He wondered if the sorcerer had picked it on purpose, taking precautions just in case Bucky decided to throw Strange out a window. Smart move, he was tempted to do that very thing.

“Wait here, it’ll just be a moment,” Wong told him. _Don’t leave this room or cause any trouble, _was what Bucky read between the lines.

Once he was gone, Bucky made a slow circumferential route around the small room, the tip of his tail twitching. He had to lift his feet so his claws didn’t snag on the expensive-looking rug, though he was tempted to put runs in it. He didn’t. Being spiteful towards Strange wouldn’t help fix anything. Plus, he was being unfair; Strange had never given him reason to mistrust him, until now, anyway.

Bucky turned toward the second room entrance where he heard footsteps approaching, putting his back toward the wall. Without having to even think about it, he kept both entrances within his sight line, already mapping out his exit strategy. There was no need for such precautions—hopefully—but it was a habit and the familiarity helped calm him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Strange greeted upon entering, nodding to him thoughtfully. The red cape he always wore—a bit showy, in Bucky’s opinion—fluttered around his ankles as his boots brought him to the middle of the foyer. His hair was perfectly coifed, his beard neatly trimmed, and it didn’t look like he’d been anywhere near a bed in the last few hours. Bucky wondered if sorcerers needed sleep like normal people.

Unlike Wong, Strange didn’t seem to hold any wariness when it came to Bucky’s presence. He was arrogant, overconfident when it came to his abilities, and today, Bucky didn’t have the patience for it. He’d almost made a fatal mistake, and he needed Strange to take him seriously.

“What can I do for you?” the master sorcerer asked airily, as if it wasn’t strange for a demon to show up at his place of residence at three in the morning.

“The batch you gave me, it’s no good,” Bucky said. His fists tightened at his side. “You have to fix it.”

Strange raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Already? Didn’t Master Drumm make an adjustment, oh, I’d say… two years ago? I suppose it was only a matter of time—how long ago did it begin to wear off? I could up the dosage, but it’ll take—“

“You don’t get it,” Bucky interrupted, teeth gritted. “It stopped working. Completely.”

Strange blinked and his brows curved downward before he glanced at Wong. The other sorcerer gave him a small shrug. Strange turned back to Bucky with a goddamn _smile _of all things.

“I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I’m saying, the batch _failed_,” Bucky snapped. “I’m saying I had a goddamn _heat_. I’m saying, Strange, that I am a threat to everyone around me. Do you take my fucking meaning_ now?”_

Wong’s eyes went wide and Strange looked as if Bucky had slapped him across the face. Even Bucky was taken aback by his outburst. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, willing himself to calm down. His tail was swaying like an agitated feline’s and he forced it still before it could knock over some no-doubt priceless artifact.

“I’m… I’m sorry. It’s been a really, really long night, and I didn’t mean to—“

“Sergeant Barnes.” Strange’s voice was awfully quiet. “Have you violated the terms of your agreement?”

Bucky dropped his hand away from his face and looked up at the two sorcerers. Ice flooded his veins as his skin crawled in fear. Strange was, _Jesus,_ he was asking him if he had fed on anyone. If he had seduced and drained the energy from a human being, breaking the explicit rules of the deal. And he had, Bucky absolutely had, and he had no illusions what the punishment for committing such an egregious act would be.

“No,” Bucky lied. “No, of course not.”

Strange took a slow breath as the tension in his shoulders dissipated. Wong didn’t look half as convinced.

“If you were in a heat, how was it stopped?” Wong asked.

_Ah, fuck._ Bucky didn’t have an answer. Heats didn’t just stop by themselves, they had to be sated through a feeding, and the sorcerers knew that.

Of course, there had been nothing_ typical_ about this heat to begin with. Heats were supposed to be gradual, like growing hunger or thirst, but this one had been like the flick of a switch. One minute, he’d been totally fine. The next minute, he’d been overwhelmed by the uncontrollable need to drain her dry. It had felt like twenty years of non-feeding had caught up to him, and it was a wonder he hadn’t killed her in the process.

Wong was still waiting for an answer. Bucky scrambled for a believable lie and gave them the simplest one he could find.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just happened only a couple of hours ago. I waited, afraid to leave the tower, and then it just kind of… went away.”

Bucky was a passable liar, at least when it came to hiding things that affected him. Wong still eyed him, though, and even Strange didn’t look as sure now.

“Why didn’t you phone us?” Wong asked, frowning.

Bucky tried not to sigh or grit his teeth. He liked Wong most of the time, but at the moment, he wished he wasn’t so competent.

“I didn’t think about it.” He winced. “I was panicking.”

It seemed a reasonable enough excuse to Bucky, hell, that’s _exactly_ what would have happened if he’d had a heat out of nowhere while at home.

Instead, Bucky had gone into heat in her bedroom, on her _bed_, while holding her in his goddamn _arms—_

Wong opened his mouth but Strange stepped forward, interrupting whatever he was going to say.

“Well, you did the right thing by remaining in isolation until it passed. I would hate to think what would have happened if you had been near anyone at the time.”

Bucky swallowed against his consent. “Yeah. Right. So, can you help?”

“Of course. I would suggest you stay here until I have it ready. I’ll have to tweak the formula a bit, make it more potent. You understand this will probably increase the side effects, yes?”

Bucky hesitated. He nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice.

“Excellent,” Strange said with far too much enthusiasm. “I’ll get to it, then.”

“I… appreciate it. Thank you, Doctor. And, sorry again for snapping at you like that. Don’t know what got into me.” Bucky’s wince was contrite this time.

“Nothing to forgive, you’re under a lot of strain.” Strange waved a hand at him, unflappable as he usually was. “Sit tight, Sergeant, and you’ll be back home in a couple hours.”

They left him to wait in the room alone. He didn’t mind the solitude, preferred it really, though he still regretted his earlier anger. The Sanctum folks had been helping him for years now, and though Bucky preferred the last master to this one, he still owed Strange a great debt. The concoctions he made were the only reason Bucky was able to live a semi-normal life, even if the side effects did make him miserable sometimes.

The dulling of his senses, his weakening strength, his abilities not being as potent. A constant gnawing in the pit of his stomach that could never be filled with food, a thirst that could never be quenched by drink. Bucky had been dealing with it for years, and he was more than willing to bear the burden if it meant what happened tonight wouldn’t be repeated.

He hated lying to the sorcerers, but if Wong and Strange knew the truth… Bucky would never leave this place alive. That simply wasn’t an option. He had managed to hunt down most of the demons that had come through the rift, but not all of them. If Bucky told the sorcerers what he’d done, she would be left to fend for herself against enemies she didn’t understand and would be helpless against.

Bucky knew was making the right choice. He had to believe it. As long as there were threats out there that were worse than him, Bucky would have to continue to watch over her. He just prayed the new dosage would keep him under control, otherwise… Bucky would take himself out of the equation.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

When Strange returned, carrying a dark red velvet pouch that contained his next dose, Bucky kept his silence and said nothing.


	4. Sublimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to move on with your life, but a certain pesky demon won't leave you be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me. I finally know where this fic is going and where I want it to end. Hopefully you will all be pleasantly surprised.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Medical treatment, mild sexual content, demon!Bucky is cranky

The days passed uneventfully, each one bringing with it less and less of an expectation that Bucky would return. You were caught between annoyance and relief. Relief because you needed time to sort through what had happened; annoyance because you were still in the dark and owed a damned explanation.

Work was a poor distraction, the difficulty of your tasks not enough to keep your mind occupied. The only thing that was different in your life before that eventful Halloween night was Davin. You couldn’t figure him out. It seemed like every opportunity he had to speak to you, whether in the breakroom or in the parking lot or even at your cubicle, he did so.

Stranger still was the way he completely ignored Theresa. Not only that, she seemed to be avoiding him as well. Theresa, normally gregarious and constantly trying to make conversation with her cubicle neighbors, was unusually quiet. The day after the party she’d called in sick, and she did look unwell. There were bags under her eyes and she seemed constantly tired. It was worrying, and you wished you had the energy to get involved.

But you had bigger things to worry about.

Your own exhaustion, on the other hand, seemed to have vanished. You figured you had caught a passing bug. Or maybe the stress of dealing with not one, but two demons had gotten to you. Sometimes, you liked to imagine that night had been the result of a fever dream. You weren’t the kind of person that could lie to yourself for long, unfortunately.

It was growing worse with each passing week. At first, you’d ignored it. The second week, you told yourself it would pass and you’d get better. By the third week, you had to accept that something was horribly wrong.

Now that the fourth week had arrived, and you were in pain and very much afraid.

It was the day before Thanksgiving and you were standing in front of the bathroom at work. The door was locked so no one could come in and interrupt you, and you pulled off your thin sweater jacket, pushing up the sleeve of your blouse.

The pentagram, no longer a faint red color, was now a solid bright crimson. The skin around it was angry and inflamed, tender and hot to the touch. It looked like an infected tattoo and had been uncomfortable for a while. Then it had started to burn, searing like a brand as far down as the muscles.

Pulling a few sheets of paper towel out of the dispenser, you wet it with cold water under the sink and gingerly pressed it to the mark. The water felt like ice from the extreme temperature difference. You didn’t know what the hell was going on but you knew you couldn’t wait any longer. Clinics would be shut down over the Thanksgiving holiday, and waiting in the ER to see a doctor was not your idea of a relaxing break from work.

That was it, then. You had to bite the bullet and go to an urgent care after work. You didn’t know if they could do anything to help, but at least you had come up with a cover story.

The clinic was packed when you arrived, but after the receptionist asked what you wanted to be seen for and you showed her the angry red “tattoo” on your arm, she marked you down as an urgent case. Your wait was brief, for which you were grateful; in your growing paranoia you were sure everyone in the waiting room knew something was abhorrent about you.

As the nurse took your vital signs, you came across your first hurdle.

“You have a temperature of 101.8,” she said with a slight frown. She looked your age, maybe a little older, and had been chipper until she’d taken your temperature. “How are you feeling besides the arm? Pain anywhere else? Aching? Chills?”

You shook your head. “No, I just feel… a little hot I guess. No pain besides the, you know, tattoo.”

“Right.” She continued checking your vitals, her frown growing each minute. “Blood pressure is 134 over 92. Could be from the fever. We’ll see what Doctor Goldberg has to say. Do you need anything in the meantime? Perhaps some water? I can’t give you any Tylenol until he looks at you.”

“That’s fine. Actually…” You paused, chewing your lip nervously. “While I’m here, um… could we test for… I, uh, had sex with someone I didn’t know really well, and we didn’t use protection or anything…”

By the time you stopped speaking your face was on fire, but the nurse took it in stride. “Of course, no problem at all. Let me just get you a cup and show you where the bathroom is.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled gratefully, wishing your face would cool down. You knew the nurse didn’t care, she’d heard much worse than someone having a fling with a stranger.

Of course, if she had_ really_ known the truth, she probably would have quit her profession right there and fled for a nunnery.

After passing your urine sample into the deposit window in the bathroom, you tried to assure yourself that they wouldn’t find anything weird. You were pretty sure demon STI’s weren’t a thing, but who knew? You could just imagine having to find the local Catholic priest in hopes of curing your affliction.

_Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. No, like, really _really_ sinned. What did I do, exactly? Well, you guys don’t still burn people at the stake, do you?_

Your humor faded as another way your life could be ruined occurred to you. Images of _Rosemary’s Baby_ popped into your head, complete with creepy cradle and hoofed-and-horned squalling infant.

Great, you were going to have nightmares for weeks now.

When the nurse returned, she went over your results with you—negative on all counts. No demonic gonorrhea or chlamydia, and more importantly, no pregnancy. That was one weight off your shoulders, at least.

Of course, that was assuming human-demon pregnancies showed up on standard pregnancy tests.

_Lovely._

The doctor, after examining the inflamed mark that was the cause of all your problems, insisted that you would have to go to the hospital for intravenous antibiotics.

You baulked.

_“What?_ Hospital? No, I can’t… I can’t do that. Can’t you just give me some antibiotics or something?”

The doctor didn’t seem happy but he didn’t seem surprised, either. He probably thought you just didn’t want to deal with an expensive emergency room bill, and though that was true, it wasn’t the biggest concern on your mind. Knowing your luck, some kind of wound care specialist would take one look at your shoulder and have you carted off to the nearest CDC center.

You insisted you didn’t need the hospital, really, really didn’t need it, but you would go if it got worse. Satisfied, he gave you a shot to the hip of antibiotics, a prescription for more antibiotics in pill form, and sent you on your way.

During the drive home your shoulder began to feel even worse. It throbbed along time with your heartbeat, pulsing fire across your skin. Fear tightened your throat. You might not have a choice about the hospital.

_Just one more day. One day to see if the antibiotics do anything. Maybe it’s some kind of irritation or my body’s having a reaction and it just needs time to settle down._

You just didn’t know. You hated not knowing. Even if the conversation would have been a nightmare, you would have rather spoken to the demon responsible than any number of medical doctors who didn’t have a clue.

Another part of your mind, the logical part, told you that you should be glad Bucky was gone. He’d murdered dozens of people at the very least. The information you found indicated he’d been brainwashed and controlled, but that didn’t mean he was harmless or trustworthy. He’d made himself out to be some kind of protector, watching over you all these years, but it turned out he was more dangerous than the _Alp _had ever been.

You knew that. You were logically and consciously aware that you’d had something very strange done to you by a very dangerous individual.

And yet, when you thought of Bucky, those weren’t the parts that stuck out in your mind. What you remembered most was a confusing amalgamation: the before and after. Before, when he had been gentle and kind, saving you from the terrifying sleep paralysis demon. And then after, when you’d been caught under some kind of spell and he’d—

Your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. No matter how much you tried to look at that night as something that had been horrifying, it just wasn’t how you felt. The memory of Bucky pressing you down and looming over you didn’t frighten you. And the memory of him pushing into you and filling you up didn’t make you feel ashamed.

No, if anything, it was all you could think about for the past few days. You couldn’t focus on anything, easily distractible as you replayed that night over and over. Your body was constantly aroused to the point you had to take care of it two, sometimes three times a day. It was exhausting, and worse, the relief periods were growing shorter and shorter.

It didn’t help that Davin had gotten it into his head that you were friends now, and tried to chat you up whenever he could. At first, you’d been worried your strange, newfound sex drive would tempt you into doing something you ordinarily wouldn’t, but you needn’t have worried. Your arousal was still very much present but didn’t seem to be directed at him. His presence annoyed you more than anything else, and you wished he would just leave you alone.

It was maddening. You didn’t know what Bucky had done to you, but you suspected it had something to do with the mark. The worse the mark got, the more uncontrollable your libido became.

It couldn’t have been a coincidence, but that didn’t know you understood what it meant. You were just as lost as that first night and it didn’t seem to be getting any better.

You pulled into the closest space you could find to your building and turned off your car. You rubbed at your forehead and made a sharp noise in your throat. You core had tightened from the minute vibrations of the car during your drive home.

This was too much.

_Tomorrow. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow._ You didn’t know if they could help, but you couldn’t live like this for a day longer.

The cool autumnal air felt good on your heated skin. You made sure you had your keys and purse before walking up to your building. Once inside, the warm temperature felt unbearable on your skin and you couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You’d turned the heat off completely, and it was a good thing your only other roommate had fur and couldn’t linguistically complain.

Your keys jangled as you worked the key into the lock; you expected to hear Monster’s obnoxious meows but instead were met with silence. You turned the knob and shouldered open the door, shutting and locking it behind you after stepping through. Only then did you see the soft glow from the living room.

You always turned off your lights before going to work.

Swallowing thickly, you walked cautiously forward until the living room came into view. Sitting on the couch, knees spread wide with confidence as if he owned the place, sat Bucky Barnes.

You stood there for a moment, just staring at him. This was the first time you’d seen him in any decent lighting, and the warm glow of the floor lamp softened his features. Even the demonic parts of him didn’t seem very scary. His wings were tucked between him and the back of the couch, his tail draped over the cushions next to him like a sleeping snake. His horns swept back from his head instead of curled forward or upward, and in that moment you thought he looked almost like… a very large housecat.

His rough, armored left arm rested on the edge of the couch while his human hand held up a sheet of papers. It took you a moment to realize what they were.

Bucky was in your apartment, sitting on your couch, reading the files you had printed out about his violent and bloody past.

No, not reading. He was staring up at you, bright blue eyes reflecting the light in a way that did make you think of a nocturnal animal.

His gaze narrowed and he set the papers down in his lap. The mark on your arm pulsed angrily at the same moment your knees threatened to fold. The vague desire you’d felt in the memories and fantasies were nothing compared to the bone-deep need that coiled tight in your core now.

_Oh, no._


	5. Incitement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the intention of making sure that she was safe, and that this feeling of wrongness was nothing but paranoia, Bucky falls into temptation a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has enjoyed this fic so far, your comments and kudos are a ray of sunshine on a blistery day.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dubcon/noncon (on the level of sex pollen), demon anatomy

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

Bucky ignored her nervous question, scrutinizing her from where he sat on her sofa. He didn’t trust himself to come any closer. Even from across the living room he caught her unmistakable scent, her own specific flavor, the one Bucky thought smelled like the air before rain. It was mixed with the unmistakable aroma of her arousal.

He gripped the edge of her sofa in his gnarled claw, attempting to ground himself and not vault across the room at her. Bucky’s mouth flooded with saliva and he had to restrain himself from shifting in discomfort. He was thankful the papers were across his lap, hiding the growing erection chaffing against his pants.

Fuck. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come; he was too close to a heat. The only reason he had was because he’d sensed something… wrong. Bucky just couldn’t figure out what it was. Even now she looked well enough, though there was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead and her pupils were large and dark. Bucky assumed that was from his pheromones, activated to full now that he was in the same room with her.

_Shit._

“Hello? Are you listening? I asked you a question—“

“What is this?” He cut her off, voice flat. He lifted the pieces of paper in his hand, as if she didn’t know exactly what he was referring to. Bucky knew he was coming hot out of the gate, barging into her home and being an overall jackass, but he was angry, frustrated. What the hell did she think she was doing, investigating his past? Worse, investigating HYDRA’s?

“What does it look like?” Her frown was stubborn despite the slight shake in her voice. “You didn’t exactly leave me a choice. No explanation, no way to reach you again. I thought I was going crazy, that I had just imagined that night, so when I found out who you were, that you were real, of course I dug deeper! What was I _supposed_ to do! You just… _left!”_

She was breathing hard, her shoulders rising and falling in a way that drew his eye and guided his wayward thoughts. Bucky could see it clearly in his head, trapping her against the mattress, sinking into her until there was no space left between them, making her cry and squirm and beg for it—

No, _no._ This was _not_ how it was supposed to go. He had been fine a moment ago. Agitated, annoyingly aroused as he had been over the last few days, but it had been manageable. Until now. The hunger was much stronger now that she’d walked through the door.

She wanted answers? Bucky was just as lost as to what the fuck was happening.

Strange’s formula should have worked, it had _always_ worked before, and he’d thought it had at first. The first two weeks after his “relapse” had been business as usual, and he’d thought maybe that night had been an anomaly. But by week three the hunger had grown, little by little, until the last few days had left him pacing around the clock tower, half-mad with an impending heat and the unending fantasies that wouldn’t leave his head.

He imagined gripping her in his hands, pushing her down onto the nearest available surface and ripping off only enough clothes to be able to slide into her slick heat—_Goddammit,_ he was doing it _again!_

Bucky’s words were harsher than he meant them to be.

“You should have left it alone.”

He rose to his feet, hands balled into fists so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for her, touch her, caress his fingers over her warm skin. _Stop it._

“There’s nothing in those files that’s gonna help you, and you’ll only attract the wrong sort of attention,” he managed to grit out between clenched teeth.

She tilted her head, her nose scrunching with displeasure. “Think I’ve already done that. Or do you not count two demons appearing in my bedroom as the wrong sort of attention?”

She took a step toward him. Bucky tried to retreat, his body telling him to do the exact opposite. The back of his heel bumped against the couch. He had nowhere to go, and his tail thumped against the couch cushions, making its agitation known.

“You need to stop.” Bucky tried to make it sound like a warning but it came out more panicked than threatening. “Just… take a deep breath and calm down.”

Bucky knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say before he’d even finished saying it.

“Calm down? You want me to _calm down?_ Are you—are you _serious?”_ Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and to his alarm, it looked like her eyes were growing reflective with tears.

He had to say something, even if he couldn’t tell her everything about this fucked up situation he’d dragged her into. Bucky owed her that much, though if he was honest with himself, he knew it might be too late to fix the damage he’d inadvertently caused. Words weren’t enough at this point, but perhaps, it was a start.

She glared up at him, waiting for an answer.

“Look…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his wings giving a restless rustle. Bucky was fidgeting but unable to stop with her so frustratingly close. “What happened that night, it was my fault. Something went wrong. I’m still trying to get a handle on it, but I’m not screwing around when I say you need to relax. Your agitation is making it worse.”

“Making_ what_ worse?” she demanded, throwing her arms out for emphasis. “You haven’t even told me what happened!”

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to summon the strength to remain as placid as he could since she wasn’t able to. He should have been more understanding. Of course she would be confused, even more than he was, and he needed to be patient.

Unfortunately, now was _not _the time to explain the nuances of his demonic nature to her. Bucky’s self-control was slipping with each moment. He had seen for himself that she was fine, so he should leave before he made another terrible mistake. Before it got worse. Bucky’s heat was approaching, too fast for comfort, but it wasn’t here yet. He still had time to get the fuck out.

Bucky opened his eyes and looked past her in the dark but saw no sign of what he was searching for. He didn’t know where her hobgoblin had disappeared to; Bucky could smell that it had been in the apartment recently and he wished the damn thing would come out and soothe its master. He only knew a little from what he’d glimpsed in books at the Sanctum’s library, but he was fairly sure hobgoblins were supposed to guard their owners from demons. Even if it had tolerated Bucky that first night with the _Alp_, it should have seen him as a threat after he’d fed on her.

But no, the stupid beast was nowhere to be found, and now Bucky had to calm her down without touching her or getting anywhere near her. Easier said than done. He was tempted to simply slip out her bedroom window, or hell, go for the dining room window, it was much closer. Take off before things escalated past the boundaries of his control.

Against his will, Bucky’s gaze cast downward to rest on her face once more. She returned his attention with a hardened glare, expression thunderous. Her brows were knitted like storm clouds and her lips pulled into a scowl. Her dark eyes and the cloying perfume of her scent kept him rooted to the spot.

Bucky couldn’t stop staring at her, drawn in and fascinated. It had been a long time since someone had read him the riot act; the few sorcerers who knew what he looked like without a guise did little more than shoot him dirty looks. And here she was, appearing for all intents and purposes like she was winding up to deck him across the face.

It should _not _have been so arousing, but his cock gave an interested twitch all the same.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you? I’m already involved in this, whatever this is, and you’re going to keep me in the dark? What gives you the right after what you did to me? And not just what you did, what you’re doing to me _now_.” Her face flinched into a grimace.

Bucky frowned. “What are you talking about?” Did she know about the heats? The pheromones that wafted from his skin like some kind of sex perfume when he was in the throes of one? No, surely that kind of information wasn’t just lying around—

“You know!” She sounded frustrated but Bucky could hear the unmistakable undercurrent of fear. “You know what I’m talking about! I even went to the doctor. They just pumped me full of antibiotics and told me to go to the ER! Like I’m going to go to the hospital for _this.”_

The way she was standing made it clear she was favoring her right side, her arm held protectively near her shoulder. Dread slowly crawled up his spine even if Bucky didn’t know why.

“For what? I honestly don’t understand,” he tried to reason, keeping his voice low and steady so as not to spook her. “If you tell me, explain it to me, then maybe I can… figure something out.”

_Maybe I can help you_ is what Bucky wanted to say. But even if he could be in her presence without wanting to get between her legs, which was a pretty big fucking_ if_ at the moment, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t want his help.

Proving his point, she shook her head as she took a step back, putting distance between them.

“You did this to me. You know what you did. Why are you… I don’t understand.” She braced the heel of her hand against her forehead. Her words came slower, muddled and confused. “Why me? Why did you pick me? Was it because… because of the thing I did as a kid? The Ouija board? Is that it? Why did you… what did you _do_ to me?”

Bucky felt it again, the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. That same instinct spurred him on, urged him to close the last few feet between them and take what was his.

_No._ She _wasn’t_ Bucky’s. She was a person, a human being, someone he had been protecting for years. He was going to throw all of that away just because he needed to feed again?

Except… that wasn’t quite right. The demon part of him didn’t see her as a simple food source. It wanted all of her, body and soul, completely belonging to him in a way he had never had before. Others had owned him, bent him to their will until he broke, but he had never had someone for his own. He wanted that, he_ needed_ it, and she was right there. All he had to do was…

Bucky realized too late that he was standing in front of her, his feet having carried him forward to where he now towered over her, his wings half-spread behind him in a position that was entirely possessive. His tail undulated back and forth behind his knees, agitated and impatient.

She hadn’t moved, frozen still as she stared up at him with wide eyes, her lips parted. Bucky could practically taste them already.

“Let me see it.”

This time his words _were_ a command. She shuddered, as if physically compelled to move against her will, and her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her coat and pulled it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. A hand lifted to her right arm but she paused. Her head was tilted at a curious angle.

Before Bucky could move, or speak, or do anything at all, she screamed. Clutching the sleeve of her blouse she wailed, sharp and high with unmistakable agony.

Bucky clapped a hand over her mouth, spinning her around so she was pinned but supported by his chest, and it was a good thing he had because her knees buckled a second later.

The scent of iron assailed his senses and he stared in shock as red began to soak the blouse sleeve under her gripping fingers. Bucky didn’t hesitate; he grabbed her fingers and moved them away, then gripped the neckline of her shirt and ripped it in half.

It was there, bleeding through her blouse from underneath, staring back at him in a horrific mockery of his own mark, carved into her flesh just as it had been carved into his.

A demon sigil.

The shock of it was like a splash of cold water to the face, and for a moment, Bucky’s was thrown back into his right mind. The air rushed out of him and all he could think was _no no no no!_ _It’s impossible!_

But not only was it very clearly there, it was also _activated_. Bleeding and burning, a punishment for disobeying one’s master. Bucky knew exactly what that felt like.

Who had _done this_ to her? HYDRA was gone, and with them the knowledge of how to create demons. Was that what they had done to her? Tried to perform the ritual? How the fuck had this happened while Bucky had been completely oblivious to it?

He had to get her to Strange. It didn’t matter if the sorcerers knew the truth that Bucky had broken the rules by feeding again. He couldn’t risk her dying or worse just because he was afraid of the consequences.

Bucky’s tumultuous thoughts came to a grinding halt as he realized she was struggling against him. No… not _struggling_. She was arching her back as she rubbed her ass against his still-present erection. She had stopped crying out in pain at least, but a needy whine was taking its place.

Like a flip being switched, the arousal was back in full force, kicking over the boundary into a fully-blown heat. Bucky spun her around and gripped her tightly by the arms, glaring down at her, nostrils flaring as he took in the tantalizing sight. The hint of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts behind her black brassier, the soft curve of her neck. He wanted to drag his teeth over her, taste every inch of her smooth skin.

The grimace of pain was gone from her face, so he knew the sigil had delivered the painful portion of its punishment, but she was still bleeding. Trails of red ran down her arm, over his armored fingers, and she was so unsteady that she only remained standing because of his vice-like grip on her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide, and Bucky knew she was staring at the dark pools of his eyes, the pupils expanding until there was nothing left but black.

Her words were soft and filled with a desperate plea. It pulled at him with a magnetic tug, the delicious nectar of her scent further reeling him in.

“Please… don’t leave me like this. I don’t… understand what you did to me… but it _hurts.”_

The fragility in her voice was the last straw, and all semblance of his self-control washed away.

Bucky bent down, and hooking his hands under her shoulders and knees, lifted her into his arms. Even against his warmth she was burning up, her heady aroma rising off her in intoxicating waves.

He carried her down the hallway and into the bedroom.

She curled against him but her eyes were shut, fisting his shirt as she buried her face in his sleeve. When Bucky set her on her bed she arched her back, whining at the loss of contact. The sound drove him mad and he left rips from his claws across his shirt and pants in his haste to get undressed. A small part of his mind cried out not to do this, to stop before it was too late. That voice banged on the invisible wall that separated him from rationality. The last heat had been an accident; he hadn’t been prepared for it and there wasn’t any way he could have stopped it.

This was the last line: if he crossed this then he was truly damned, but he couldn’t stop himself either. The opportunity for him to run had passed. His heat had him in its clutches, and he was as helpless now as he was under HYDRA’s control. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull back, and even if he could have… there was a too-large part of him that didn’t want to.

The demon instincts knew this was what needed to happen. The belief was concrete, an innate knowledge he didn’t understand but couldn’t question, and urgency fueled his movements as he removed her shoes and tugged off her pants and underwear. Her bra, partially soaked from the blood still trickling from the sigil, was also removed hastily, his claws snagging on the delicate material and ruining it in pieces.

Her hands were against his chest, pushing him away or trying to get closer, but probably both. She was feverish, barely able to focus on his face as she whimpered, _“Make it stop,” _over and over. She seemed like she was in the thralls of a heat herself, tormented and writhing on the bed as if burning from the inside out.

The human part of Bucky wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight, tell her the things that would calm and soothe her. But that wasn’t the part of him that had control of the reins, and the demon had no patience for sweet words and soft caresses.

She was naked and under him, perfection even when she was in agony. Bucky stopped himself just long enough to carefully roll her onto her stomach. He had the wherewithal to at least make it less horrific for her; he wouldn’t force her to look at him, to see the horrible monster that was attacking her.

It was all he could do; Bucky couldn’t wait a moment longer. His cock was throbbing, dribbling pre-cum. He spread it over his shaft, the liquid almost oil-like, and at least the self-lubrication part of his anatomy would make it less painful for her.

Kneeling behind her, Bucky switched hands, bringing his slicked fingers to her folds and pressing between them. The groan she made went straight to his cock, and he gritted his teeth and squeezed the base of his shaft. Bucky won’t be able to come until she did, that’s how the feeding worked, but he hoped it would stop some of the agonizing pressure.

He slipped his fingers inside her with the intention of slicking her up, but he found it unnecessary—she was already wet, in amounts that seemed too much to be normal.

He wished he could stop, think logically and rationally. It was wrong; he should be helping her, not doing_ this_. Bucky bit down on his lip; he was fighting with every last shred of control, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

He pressed the tip against her entrance and without a word of warning or comfort, he pushed inside. He didn’t stop, even when she gripped the sheets and gave a muffled sob.

As soon as he was inside, pressed between her folds, his humanity was pushed out and disconnected. Even then, some distant part of Bucky was horrified, but the demon only reveled as she lifted her hips so he could slide into her that much easier.

It took only a couple seconds after that to bottom out. His hips were pressed hard against her ass and she was so tight around him he could barely breathe, but God it felt _so_ good, even more than he remembered from before.

She was making small noises, little cries in the back of her throat. Bucky pressed her hips flat to the bed so he could lie across her back. Obeying some instinct he didn’t fully understand, he ran his tongue over the bleeding mark on her shoulder. Salty iron flooded his mouth, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He lapped up the rest of the blood, careful not to hurt her further as he cleaned the wound.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as the tension left her coiled muscles, her body relaxing under his. Wherever Bucky’s tongue ran across the lines of the pentagram it stopped weeping blood. It was working, whatever he was doing.

Once the flow of blood completely ebbed away, the careful tenderness vanished along with it. Bucky squeezed her hips in his claws; she groaned but said nothing, her muscles tensing again as her breathing quickened.

He tilted her hips up and began to move, thrusting into her tight heat. Bucky buried his face in the crook of her neck, tasting her on his tongue as he nipped at her skin. The sensitive ridges on his cock sparked delicious friction against her walls, sending jolts up and down his body. Bucky could sense the ridges along his lower spine and the base of his tail grow even more erect. The hardened spines along his vertebra were fully protruding now, his wings taut and arched high.

Her moans, quiet and muffled at first, were unabashed and loud with need. Bucky knew she was close, not just from her body writhing against him or her walls tightening around his cock, but from the energy building inside her. The life-giving energy he needed to survive, it was like electricity gathering in the air under a massive thunderhead, about to burst down upon him.

Without thinking, Bucky curled his tail down between his legs and slipped it flat against her mound and the bed. The jerk of his hips forced her to rub her clit against the underside of his tail with each thrust, reaching where his fingers couldn’t.

The dam burst within seconds. Bucky could barely remain grounded, swept away in the tide of electric energy and delirious heat. It poured into him, exactly what he needed, had dreamt about for days, and he felt like a dying man stumbling upon an oasis as he drained her of everything he could take.

She held onto the covers tightly, her cries jagged as she bit into the fabric, arching her back as she squeezed him so tightly he couldn’t move—

No, Bucky realized, he couldn’t move because the knot at the best of his cock was swelling, trapping him up to the hilt inside her. He should have been panicking but all he could do was groan into the back of her neck, her energy still pouring into him like floodgates thrown wide. It was a deluge he would have gratefully drowned in.

Bucky opened his eyes wide and he really _did_ panic. He _couldn’t stop_. Oh, God, it was too much, he was draining her and he didn’t know how to stop, not with his cock fucking _stuck inside her. _She was trapped too, throbbing around him as Bucky continued to pull energy from deep within her. She twisted underneath him, unable to budge an inch, shuddering and moaning dejectedly.

Bucky slid his tail out from under her and held tight, wrapping his arms around her waist as he lightly bit down on her uninjured shoulder. The fucking sinful moan she gave was enough to make another wave of cum spill from his cock. She must have felt it too because she gave another pitiful moan at the same time.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the energy tapered off and his body came down from its never-ending orgasmic high. His scalp tingled, his skin vibrating with soothing, liquid warmth, and he’d never felt so damned amazing in his life. Even the aches and headaches from the concoctions were gone.

The knot deflated enough for Bucky to pull out, his cum spilling out of her now that he was no longer plugging her up. Lucidity returned to him, quickly followed by horror.

Bucky softly spoke her name. She didn’t respond.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._ She wasn’t moving. He’d knocked people unconscious from overfeeding before, had tried using it as an escape mechanism before while in HYDRA’s captivity. He hadn’t meant to do it to her, he’d tried to stop, oh God, _what if he’d gone too far and he killed her?_ He knew that shouldn’t be possible, but nothing about this situation was normal, even for him.

Bucky knelt next to her and gently rolled her onto her back, careful not to scratch her with his claws as he checked her carotid artery for a heartbeat. It was there, steady and slow beneath his fingertips. He breathed with relief; she was unconscious but alive.

The shame returned in full force as he looked over her body. Somehow, the first time he’d fed on her he had managed to not leave any marks, probably because it had happened so fast. This time, however, scratch marks littered her skin, thin lines of pink and red. The bite mark he’d left wasn’t deep but it had broken the skin and would definitely bruise. God knew what other bruises were going to show up for her tomorrow.

As much as Bucky felt like shit, he couldn’t deny she looked healthier. He placed his wrist on her forehead and felt she was cooler in temperature. Her skin was no longer flushed or covered in sweat and her scent was no longer an aphrodisiac he couldn’t resist.

Her body had settled down from its agitated state, but it was that fucking demon sigil that Bucky was most worried about. He studied it closely, delicately running a finger over her changed skin. The previously inflamed, swollen flesh was now pink and new-looking, and the sigil had faded from an ugly seared brand into a watercolor mark. He didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he knew it was nothing good.

Bucky lingered close to her, unable to pull away just yet. The worried lines and creases of her face were smooth in sleep. She looked peaceful, gentle and innocent, even.

Something wistful twisted inside him. _No, get up and get dressed. You can stew in self-hatred later when you’re far away from here._

Bucky pulled on what was left of his clothing, though hers were even more ruined than his. Last time he’d managed to dress her before rushing out the window, like a literal thief in the night. He didn’t want to just leave her like this, but the longer he stayed, the heavier his heart became.

At least he didn’t feel drunk this time, engorged and oversaturated with stored energy. Bucky didn’t know if it was because his last feeding had only been a month ago, as opposed to two decades, but he was grateful for the clarity of mind.

Going out into the living room, Bucky planned on grabbing the blanket he had spied on the couch earlier. He was met by a grey lump sitting on the stack of strewn papers that laid out Bucky’s sordid history. Green eyes stared up at him, narrowed in satisfaction.

“Oh,” Bucky said. “It’s you.”

The hobgoblin blinked.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” he growled. “I know you understand English just fine.”

The beast said nothing. Bucky went for the blanket, eyeing the imposter-cat warily, but it didn’t so much as hiss at him.

“You’re not very good at your job, you know that? You should be trying to chase me out. Leave a scratch or two, at least as a point of pride.”

The hobgoblin closed its eyes and Bucky got the impression it was smirking at him.

Lips curled into a frown, Bucky left the creature where it was and returned to the bedroom. She was still fast asleep, and he very carefully lifted her up to slide the soiled sheets out from under her. He bunched them into a ball and tossed them to the floor. He considered finding a washing machine, or even burning them, but decided against it.

Bucky took the blanket and pulled it over her shoulders, covering her goose-bumped skin. The sight of her looking so vulnerable forced his shame to heighten, growing worse with every minute.

He froze when she rolled onto her side, returning to her protective curled position, but she didn’t awaken. Bucky reached forward and very carefully brushed a strand of hair out of her face. It was all he could offer her. Meaningless gestures.

Her skin was velvety soft against the back of his fingers, her scent clean and no longer tinged with blood or overpowered with arousal. It was just her, human and normal, still untainted by the world she was being drawn down into. Seeing her like this, being in her life in some way, it’s what he had wanted for years but hadn’t dared himself to hope.

How fucking ironic was it that when Bucky was able to finally meet her face-to-face since her childhood, he had immediately torn her life to shreds.

Forcing himself to pull away, he went to the window and pried it open, wincing at the crumpled state of the lock. Bucky had broken it in his desperation to get to the _Alp _before it could feed. He’d have to fix it. Bucky had been enough of an asshole to her; he didn’t need to leave her with a broken lock on top of everything else.

It was a tight fit but he managed to squeeze his tail and wings through, closing the window firmly behind him. From the narrow ledge that overlooked the alley, he had a decent in and out of her building without being seen.

Bucky stretched his wings, gave two cursory flaps to stretch out his cramped muscles, and leapt. He gave an enormous downward flap and caught himself on the cold night air, swinging upward from the lift under his wings. The freezing temperatures bit at his skin unpleasantly, but it would take only a few minutes to reach the clock tower, and thank God for that. He hated the cold.

Bucky thought hard about his next move, not needing his full attention to find his way back home. Going by the state of her sigil after the feeding—however those two things were connected—Bucky had bought himself a little bit of time. If he could find a way to figure out what it meant, how she had a demon sigil and why his heats were back, then maybe he could bypass the sorcerers altogether. After all, Bucky didn’t have just himself to worry about now. He didn’t think Strange would punish her for Bucky fucking up so badly…

…but he couldn’t take that chance. For now, he was on his own.


	6. Perennial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes calling and you find out a little bit more about the mark on your shoulder. Unfortunately, it does nothing to comfort you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I'm putting this up on Thanksgiving, which is funny because that's the day this chapter takes place. Did not mean for that to happen, but at least you can imagine spending the holiday with an awkward, gruff demon boy.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your continued support. This chapter is long and a bit plotty but it explains some stuff I feel is important for the story moving forward.The next chapter will be more salacious and things will really start picking up soon. I'm nearly done with Nano, so y'all have at least 50k words of demon Bucky to enjoy before I burn myself out. Knowing people enjoy this fic helps me keep going, so thank you again everyone who has commented so far.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Mild sexual content

You groaned as you stretched out your arms and legs, wincing as your back creaked and your joints popped. Your limbs felt pleasantly heavy with restful sleep, a rarity for you. There was a lump against your leg and you looked down to find Monster flopped over on his side, softly snoring without a care in the world.

You frowned as you plucked at the fuzzy green blanket covering your legs, and very belatedly realized you were naked. _Why_ were you naked? Where had all your clothes gone? Had you had too much to drink again? It had been a while since you’d been that drunk. In fact, you hadn’t had anything to drink since…

Oh, _shit._

You ripped down the blanket and found marks on your skin that hadn’t been there the day before. Claw marks on your hips and arms, your sides discolored with finger-shaped bruises. Your inner thighs were tacky with what you knew wasn’t sweat, and your covers were next to your bedroom door. Even from your bed you spied the crimson tint of the fabric, and you remembered why.

You rotated your shoulder forward and placed a hand over the mark, feeling it tenderly. It had faded back into its faint red pigmentation, the skin smooth and whole once more. As your fingers traced over the star pattern, you recalled Bucky’s long—and definitely not quite human—tongue licking the blood clean. The cooling sensation of him lapping at your skin had brought nearly instant relief.

But it hadn’t been anything in comparison to when Bucky had slid deep inside you. It had been like breathing air after suffocating for so long, or like a wound being drained of burning venom. It had been exactly what you’d needed, _which sounded as insane as you thought it did._

You rubbed your forehead—not for the first time and certainly not the last—wondering what the fuck he had done to you to make you act this way. It was like he had put some kind of curse on you, bewitching your body into craving him when he wasn’t there, and going completely balls-to-the-wall horny when he was.

_“Ugh!”_ You growled at the ceiling as if it were the cause of all your troubles. Monster twitched and gave a complaining noise in his sleep, unconcerned by your crisis.

There was nothing to do about it now. You needed to clean yourself of the stain of the night before, both on yourself and your bed. You got up, your body protesting and wanting more sleep, but you ignored it and shoved the soiled covers next to the door to take down to the laundry machines.

Your next order of business, a hot shower. The scratches stung in the warm water and you made sure to clean each one you could find. You didn’t want to think about venom or bacteria, and you certainly didn’t want to think about the implications of having sex with a demon _twice._

It felt wrong to admit it had been so beyond anything you’d experienced with sex before. You hadn’t had a literal otherworldly orgasm this time, to your great relief, but it had still hit you like a freight train and seemed to last forever. You were ninety-nine percent sure you’d passed out afterwards, or at least you couldn’t remember what happened after. Only that you’d woken up, sore and covered with evidence that Bucky had been there.

And yet, just as he had that first night, Bucky was nowhere to be found the next morning. You weren’t sure if it was a relief or if it pissed you off.

At least you weren’t tired this time, though your body did ache. And no wonder: you could distinctly remember how stretched you had been, full almost to the point of exquisite pain. The pressure of his claws digging into your hips, the sharp pleasure of his lips and teeth on your shoulder, his cock opening you up as he made you squirm and cry—

You turned the facet straight to cold and drowned out the sordid thoughts with freezing water.

You put your hair up in a towel and got dried and changed into the frumpiest clothes you had. You’d forgotten it was Thanksgiving. You didn’t have to go to work and contend with sitting in your office chair while your thighs and ass were sore, thank God, but you knew your mom would be calling at some point. She always did on holidays and weekends just to check up on you. You’d managed to lie to her so far, telling her everything was fine, but after last night you were shaken and needed to compose yourself before you spoke to her.

After carrying your laundry to the basement and depositing it into a washing machine, you went back up to your apartment and made yourself a bowl of oatmeal and poured a glass of orange juice. Punctual as ever, your mom called an hour after you usually woke up.

_“Hi, sweetie,”_ she greeted when you answered your phone. _“Enjoying your day off? I hope you’re relaxing with a good book.”_

Not a bad idea, actually. Maybe you could find some books at the local library on demonology. You could imagine how pleased Bucky would be, considering how well he took the last time you’d done some research on your own.

_Oh, he was pleased, all right._

You shoved the thoughts out of your head again at the same moment you jammed a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth.

“Not yet,” you said, speaking around the mouthful. “I have two days plus the weekend though, so sky’s the limit.”

You talked for a while, boring stuff mostly. Work (same as always), TV shows you were watching (none since the demonic intrusion in your life), how you were doing with bills (badly, since basically forever). She didn’t ask you if you’d met anyone, for which you were grateful. She rarely did, and you weren’t sure if she was respecting your privacy or if she had just given up on you getting hitched and popping out babies a long time ago.

Just when she was beginning to tell you about the family gathering for the holiday (Uncle Walter had adopted a new Chihuahua, making this his fifth, and your sister’s baby was due in two months), a sudden knock drew your attention to the door.

“One sec, Mom.” You put the phone down on the counter, already mentally preparing yourself for a battle. It had to be Mr. Morris again, complaining about the noise you so very rarely made. You’d already had a noise complaint from the first night Bucky had been here; the last thing you needed was to be evicted for disturbing the neighbors with your new _nocturnal activities._

Jesus Christ, how was this your life now?

Unlatching the lock, you braced yourself for the telling off you were about to receive and swung open the door.

Bucky was standing on your doorstep. Sudden, unexpected, and jarringly human.

He held some kind of toolkit in his right hand, the left arm stiff by his side. His frown was sour and decidedly unfriendly. His nostrils briefly flared as he looked you over, a quick glance from head to toe that made you feel vividly exposed.

“What are you doing here?” you asked faintly. You hadn’t expected to see him so soon, if ever.

He shifted his weight lightly from one foot to the other and you got the impression of claws scrapping against the floor. You didn’t know why. Visually, it looked like he was wearing a pair of black boots. Maybe your mind was filling in the gaps of what it knew should be there.

“Thought I would, you know…” He took a deep breath. “Fix the lock on your window.”

You blinked and frowned. “My window?”

“I broke it. Getting inside. To stop the _Alp_,” he added when you simply stood there, motionless.

“Oh.” You hadn’t even realized it was broken. “I thought you just teleported inside or something. Maybe walked through a solid wall.”

His face remained as inscrutable and amused as a stone. “No. Just broke in like a common cat burglar.”

You pressed your lips together to stop the smirk that wanted to take root. You were pretty sure no one called them _cat burglars_ anymore, but then again, the guy was like… a hundred years old.

Rubbing your cheek, you weighed your options heavily. Turn him away and possibly piss him off, and then you’d have to deal with an ornery demon and no working lock on your window.

Or. You could let him in and see what happened. You really didn’t like option two, but so far you didn’t feel anything… suspect. Your heart was racing a little, but you figured that was due to nerves. No crazy sex magic was going on as far as you could tell.

And considering your libido used to be pretty boring, you felt confident that you would know if there was. Just recalling how ramped your sex drive had been the last few days felt surreal, and the first sign it was coming back, you would tell him to get out.

Plus with the daylight streaming in through the windows, and the fact he seemed so human as he stood nervously out in your building hallway, made the situation not seem as dire. Maybe he really would fix your window and leave you alone after.

Maybe. Maybe not. If he really wanted to get back in, he would do it anyway. At least this way, while he was busy with repairs… you might be able to finally get some answers.

You stepped back and held the door open for him. He raised his brows in surprise.

“Do you need a spoken invitation first?” you asked. He rolled his eyes but you thought there was a shadow of a smirk hidden there somewhere.

“That’s vampires,” he said as he walked past.

You shut the door behind him and followed him with your eyes, automatically drawn to his back where his wings should have been. There was no trace of them to be seen, but he moved with a slight sway, the weight of them still very present.

_So, he just hides his demon features, he doesn’t make them disappear. Interesting._

He’d shown you this trick once before, his wings and tail and horns melting into nothing like a shimmery mirage. Only that first night, you’d seen nothing but a stump where his demonic arm had been. This time he still had both arms, covered by the sleeves of a dark jacket with his hands sheathed in black driving gloves.

He glanced over his shoulder at you, raising a brow, and you quickly looked away. With your head turned toward the kitchen, you finally noticed your phone on the island counter.

“Shit!” You dashed for your phone, grabbing it and holding it your ear. “Mom? You still there?”

_“I’m here.”_ Her voice was lilted with curiosity. _“Who’s that?”_

“Uh.” You turned toward Bucky. He was watching you, his expression blank. “No one.”

_“Do you have a man over?”_

_“No,”_ you emphasized quite strongly. “No.” Definitely _not_ a man.

_“I heard someone’s voice. Sounded like a man. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”_ The interest in her voice was plain as day, but you were quick to dissuade her of the notion.

“He’s the maintenance guy.” You winced and only one of Bucky’s eyebrows rose this time.

_“On Thanksgiving?”_ she asked, dubious.

“Yeah. Emergency repair.” The lie came a little too easily for your liking.

_“Oh, no, is everything all right?” _Her teasing fell into the cadence of concern, and you tried not to wince at the fact you were making your mother worry for no reason.

Well… okay, there was _plenty_ of reason, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. The lock on my window broke for some reason.” You narrowed your eyes pointedly. “Hopefully this will fix it so no one crawls in my window at night.”

For a quick moment, you could have sworn Bucky’s expression tightened, but then his face smoothed into unreadable blankness and you weren’t sure if you had seen anything to begin with.

_“All right, dear, I’ll let you go. Don’t want to distract you while the repairman is there.”_

“He’s not a distraction,” you grumbled, turning your back to Bucky so you could have the illusion of privacy. “It’s just something I need to take care of. I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Love you.”

_“I love you too, sweetie. Let me know how it goes.”_

You told her you would, and after saying goodbye you clicked off the call. You drew a breath and tried to relax the muscles that had tensed in the last few minutes. The awkwardness of the situation was not something you wanted to deal with, but from what you’d noticed, Bucky didn’t seem thrilled about it either. He wasn’t throwing himself at you, and your body was behaving itself, so maybe you could have a normal interaction for once.

Well, as “normal” as one could in such circumstances.

You turned around and opened your mouth to speak, something along the lines of _could we make this quick please_, but closed your mouth again. Bucky had vanished and the sound of splintering wood came from your bedroom.

By the time you made it to your bedroom, preparing yourself to see God only knew what kinds of destruction, Bucky had simply pulled off the ruined lock from your windowsill.

You stared at him, openly and without pretense this time. He had dropped his human illusion, his dark wings folded against his back and the tip of his tail almost brushing the floor. He had removed his gloves and set them aside, revealing his gnarled claws and his more human-looking, but still taloned, flesh hand. The dark, conical fingernails traced over the damaged woodwork of the sill as carefully as if they were surgeon’s tools.

In the natural light pouring through the window, Bucky looked even more striking. The skin on his arm, tail, and wings that you had thought was a dark brown was actually a sort of warm grey that had shades of brown in it.

_Like raw iron ore._ That’s what he reminded you of. Not fire and brimstone and evil incarnate, but something formed from the earth, sturdy and natural. The memory of his scent flooded your thoughts. Earthy soil and dark wood. You couldn’t smell it now but you were sure you hadn’t imagined it.

There was something else you hadn’t imagined either. _You’re beautiful._ You’d said those words to him, embarrassingly honest without a filter. Worse of all, they still held true. He _was_ beautiful. You’d never been the type of person to be struck dumb by a pretty face, but this was… _he _was something else entirely.

He didn’t look up at you but his tone was tense, and you suspected he could feel your blatant stare. “Shouldn’t take more than a half hour, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

You blinked stupidly, having forgotten all about the broken window. Even now, you couldn’t stop staring. The buttery light through the open blinds made the armored portions of his gnarled arm stand out in sharp relief. The webbing of his wings was so thin you could see the veins through them, delicately shaped like the veins of a dried leaf.

And those horns… At first, you’d thought, with some amusement, that their backward shape made him look like a perpetually annoyed cat. Now, you thought they looked regal, like a half-formed crown made of stone and ore.

Bucky looked up and caught you staring.

“Uh,” you said belatedly. “That’s fine. Take your time. No rush.”

Except a moment ago you’d wanted nothing more than for him to be out of your apartment. He seemed to know it too, going by the angle of his brows.

He gave a shrug and said, “Figured you’d want to be, I donno, out with people today. Doing other things.”

You looked away and pressed your lips together, but it didn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “I thought you’d been following me since I was a kid. Wouldn’t you know I don’t have anywhere else to be?”

The silence hung between you like a smothering weight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice oddly soft. You resisted the urge to look at him.

“For what?”

“For everything. The broken lock is the least of it.”

Now you _did _look at him. Bucky was still next to the window, his clawed hand resting on the sill, but his blue eyes were staring back.

“I’m sorry for what happened. And I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

He opened his mouth again, paused, and closed it. He looked at you expectantly, almost nervously, as if waiting for you to let loose your anger on him. You had no idea what to say, for once your mind void of questions. You had expected him to be reticent about talking, and that you would have to be the one to force a conversation, but here he was… apologizing.

“Could you please just… explain all of this to me?” you asked, holding out your hands plaintively. “I can’t accept your apology if I don’t even understand what it’s for.”

Bucky chewed on the corner of his lip as he looked down at his clawed hand. It was such a human gesture, oddly endearing. It almost distracted you from the bombshell he dropped in the next instant.

“I’m a succubus.”

You waited for him to make a follow-up statement, maybe something like, _hah, just kidding. There’s no such thing, you gullible idiot._

He said nothing else and neither did you. You wouldn’t have known where to start, and eventually he looked up, brows furrowed as he studied your face. You had no idea what he saw there, because your brain was checked out for lunch.

“You’re a… succubus,” you repeated.

“Yes. It’s a kind of demon that feeds off sexual energy.” His eyes were as flat as the inflection in his voice. “They have to have sex in order to feed from humans—“

“I know what a succubus is,” you interrupted, rubbing just below your right shoulder. “I just thought they were, you know… women.”

“Not necessarily.” Bucky looked as if he really,_ really_ didn’t want to have this conversation. His shoulders were slightly hunched and his wings shifted, making a scraping sound as they rubbed against each other.

The thing that seemed to telegraph his moods more than anything was his tail. When Bucky seemed calm, or at least not agitated, it remained still and relaxed. Right now, it twitched back and forth, once again reminding you of a cat, except the fact it was brownish, hairless, and had hard ridges at the base where it joined his spine. You hadn’t noticed those before, and the longer you stared at them the more prominently they rose, like the hackles of an animal.

So, almost but not _quite_ like a cat. Unlike Monster when he got cranky, Bucky’s tail looked like it was strong enough to break the wooden frame of your bed as it swayed dangerously close.

“Okay,” you said slowly, “how does it work?”

He pressed his lips together in an unhappy line. “A succubus feeds... there’s no delicate way to say it, by being fucked.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “So… a succubus feeds by being penetrated during sex?”

“That _is _what I said, yes.”

You barely noticed the shortness in his tone, your mind already churning with the new information after being stuck in the dark for so long.

What he said didn’t seem right. It made sense if it depended less on a demon’s gender and more on their methods as to what they were, but what he was describing wasn’t what he had done to you. Clearly, you had been the fuck_ee_ in that situation, not the fuck_er._

“You’re an incubus,” you concluded, full of confidence.

Bucky frowned further. “No, I’m a succubus.”

“But going by what you said, I mean, I don’t know as much as you do, but… You did the penetrating when you fed from me, right?” You shrugged. “Sounds like an incubus to me.”

Bucky opened his mouth only to shut it again. You felt pretty proud of yourself for figuring it out, but the feeling faded away when you realized he seemed troubled. Maybe even upset. The jaws of his muscles were so tight they looked like they might snap.

“My _point_ is, we have to feed from humans or we’ll eventually starve to death. But before that, we go into something called a heat. It’s a… kind of lust fever. We don’t just lose control, though that is a big part of it. We also give off a kind of pheromone that acts as an aphrodisiac.”

His shoulders tightened with discomfort, as if he didn’t want to go on, but you remained quiet and rapt with attention. Eventually, Bucky seemed to lose his internal battle, because he continued speaking.

“You’ve already experienced that twice, now. It’s not something I can control when it gets bad… and there’s no protection against it, unless you wear a mask or filter the air another way. Either way, I’m sorry you were… exposed to that. I never meant to put you in that position.”

Maybe you should have been upset, or scared, or even angry. You were none of those things, your brain catching onto his words and turning them over with a fascinating curiosity. So many new things were opening up to you at once, and you weren’t sure which to dissect first.

You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. It made sense, the pheromones as part of the seduction. If humans were a food source for demons, they would have different ways of baiting and luring them. Something like the _Alp_ would wait until its victim was asleep but would still paralyze them in case they woke up. Following that train of thought, it would be perfectly logical for an incubus, succubus, whatever, to be able to artificially seduce someone into being fed on willingly.

You realized he was staring at you, his piercing gaze spearing through you like a hook through a fish. You cleared your throat and gave a small nod. “That’s what happened that night? You just got hungry?”

Bucky winced so hard it was almost a flinch. Had you gotten it wrong? You thought your analysis was pretty spot-on, but you were still new to the whole craft of demon husbandry.

“You’re taking this… better than I expected,” he said. You shrugged, the movement automatically preparing you for your shoulder to hurt. It didn’t. Ever since Bucky’s last… _feeding_, it had felt completely fine again. Amazing, actually. You felt rejuvenated in a way that was kind of embarrassing.

“I guess? I mean, I don’t know if this will make any sense, but the last month has been _surreal._ Every time I think I catch my breath, something else weird happens. Learning all of this is… a relief, to be honest. At least I know I’m not going crazy and that there is a logical explanation for everything. Besides, you said you couldn’t control, right? If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.”

Bucky gawked you as if you’d grown another head. Okay, so maybe you were being a little too practical about this, but you’d been honest when you’d said it was a relief to know the truth. You could deal with the situation if you had all the information.

“I…” Bucky shifted on his feet and his tail gave an impatient swish. “I’m not sure it would have happened with anyone else. I haven’t fed in a long time. Years. I’ve been… taking something that makes it so I don’t have to. But as soon as I tried to erase your memories, it… just _happened.”_

You blinked in confusion. Hadn’t he just told you that demons needed to feed or they would die? What could keep a demon alive without feeding? You wanted to ask him but he continued talking, forcing you to stifle your questions and pay attention.

“I don’t know what went wrong that night. I took precautious so it wouldn’t happen again, and then it did a second time, and I just…” Bucky seemed at a loss for words, his eyes drifting down to his clawed nails lightly sinking into the wood. He had stopped working on the damaged lock during the conversation, and he didn’t even seem to see it as he stared past it out to the alley below.

“Why are you telling me all this?” you finally asked. This was the other shoe you were waiting to drop, you just knew it, and tension gathered at the back of your neck.

“I’m telling you because I’m hoping if I’m honest with you, you’ll be honest with me.”

“Okay… Honest about what?”

He sighed heavily as if trying to unburden himself, or possibly prepare himself for battle. When Bucky met your eye again, you were surprised to find concern of all things.

“I need you to tell me who did that to you.” He nodded toward your right shoulder. You frowned and followed his gaze to where the mark was hidden under your sleeve.

Why was he asking you that? The answer was plain as day. “Uh… You did this to me.”

Bucky shoved the screwdriver on the windowsill with a sharp_ slap_, the movement startling you. He turned to face you fully, his wings slightly rustling as he seemed to fill up more of the room than he had a moment ago.

“I’m not fucking around,” he growled. You took an automatic step back in retreat. “_Tell me_ who did it. Did they do it here or take you somewhere else? I don’t care what they said or what promises they made, they’re liars. Or did they do this to you to get at me?”

By the time he had stopped his barrage of questioning, you had backed up to the bedroom doorway. You found you could go no further. Maybe it was the intense piercing of his eyes, but you found you couldn’t move. You shook your head wordlessly, your voice having fled, your heart racing in your chest in a panicked rhythm.

Bucky loomed over you, casting a literal shadow over you as he blocked out the light from the windows. His blue eyes traced your face for several seconds before he seemed to slightly deflate.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, taking a step back and giving you room to relax. You did, but only barely.

“I just… I need you to tell me. Your life depends on it.”

You swallowed, the movement so difficult you nearly choked, and forced your mouth to move and your voice to speak. It did with some forced encouragement, and you were proud to say it only shook a little.

“No one did this to me. I thought it was you, because it just… appeared the next morning after the first time you… fed.” You felt your cheeks heating and you quickly changed directions. “Do you know what it is?”

“Of course I do.” He practically scowled. “It’s a demon sigil.”

“A what?” you asked faintly, sure you hadn’t heard right.

“A demon sigil,” he repeated gruffly. “It’s part of the ritual of binding a demon to its new master.”

“Oh.” Your own gaze lowered to the carved symbol on his shoulder, or rather where it was hidden under the sleeve of his jacket. You remembered the way the pentagram had been carved directly into the armored flesh, and you could imagine its creation had been painful. A red star of cruelty. “Is that what you have?”

“Yeah. The first time HYDRA drew one of those into my skin, it healed itself after the ritual. Each time I was given to a new handler, they would draw that symbol into my shoulder, leaving a permanent sigil that wouldn’t fully heal. Sometimes… it would even bleed when they commanded it to. Good way to cheaply punish a demon who disobeys orders.”

You felt the blood drain from your face, the truth of Bucky being under HYDRA’s control really hitting home for you. The demon stuff might have been fascinating to you, but his actual lived reality was a lot darker and more gruesome than you could probably imagine.

Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin like as his jaw flexed, his eyes tracing over your face. “So, you gotta understand, it’s impossible that you have one of these symbols. You’re _human._ The only reason you would have one is if you were a demon. Or, possibly, if someone had started the ritual to turn you into a demon and never finished it.”

His glare hardened, as did his words.

“Which is why I need to know if someone did this to you. Are you sure no one was here? Do you have any missing time? Anything that you can’t explain?”

You shook your head, feeling completely out of your depth. You weren’t sure if it was comforting or alarming that he didn’t seem to have a grasp on the situation either. “Like I said, it just appeared there the next morning. Only…”

His head tilted, eyes narrowed cautiously. “What?”

You hesitated, not sure if telling him was the right thing to do, but at this point you really didn’t see how it could hurt.

“It looked like this at first,” you said as you pulled up your shirt sleeve. Your skin was smooth and the pentagram had faded back to its light red color, deceiving benign. “But after about a week it started to… I don’t know how to explain it, rise to the surface? The second week, the skin around it was irritated and it started to ache. By week three, the lines were raised and it was hot and tender. And the fourth week…”

You covered your sleeve and hugged your arms around your stomach, trying to find comfort as you remembered the raw fear of the last week. You were glad it was over, but you didn’t like the implications of how it had been “solved.”

“Well, you saw what it was like last night,” you said. “That was the first time it had bled. I thought I was dying. And then you… you fed on me again, and it just went away? Why would it do that? What does it mean?”

He didn’t respond immediately, instead turning back to the windowsill, his face blank but his eyes gleaming with some emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. You looked to his tail, knowing it would show you the truth. Its range of movements was smaller now, but still very twitchy. You didn’t know what it meant; you’d need a bit more practice, but you were sure once you got his patterns of behavior down you’d be able to read him like a book.

Wait, what the _hell_ were you saying? You didn’t want to be around him more than you already were. Ever since his appearance in your bedroom that Halloween night, your life had been nothing but a chaotic, tumultuous mess.

A goddamn incubus had fed on you twice. As if that weren’t enough, you now had a demon sigil burned into your arm, branded like a literal piece of meat to be consumed.

“I don’t have a clue what’s happening to you.”

Bucky picked up some kind of tool from his toolkit and began to smooth out the rough edges of wood around where the lock used to be, once again not looking at you. There was hollowness in your chest, helplessness at your situation, but before you could spiral into your inevitable misery, he said, “But I’m going to find out.”

“Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. “Why do you care?”

The bluntness of your words made him glance up at you, brows creased in a severe line. “Because this is my fault. I don’t know how you got that sigil, but if it happened the first night I fed from you…”

“Could it have been the _Alp_?” You were almost hopeful that was the case. “Maybe he’s responsible?”

Bucky was already shaking his head. “No. As far as I know, demons can’t make other demons. He wasn’t looking for anything more than a meal.”

Your throat worked as you remembered the sight looming over you, the glowing green teeth on the petals of a poisonous flower.

“He… he wasn’t like a succubus, or an incubus, right? He wasn’t going to…” You couldn’t finish, the words stuck in your throat.

“No, no, nothing like that.” He visibly paled at your implication, no doubt thinking of what he himself had done. “The _Alpen_ are dream-eaters. That’s what they’re called anyway; they don’t actually eat dreams, they just feed off the mental energy of a person while they’re dreaming. He probably wouldn’t have actually hurt you, the worst they do is turn dreams into nightmares, but…”

Bucky looked down and returned to his work on the wood, his movements a little harder than before.

“A demon is a demon.”

Something about that statement really bothered you, and you couldn’t let it sit.

“Are they, though? Are all demons the same?”

His movements briefly paused at your words, and then he continued on as if you hadn’t even spoken. You pushed on.

“I mean, you’re a demon but you’re nothing like the _Alp_—“

“I’m exactly like the _Alp_,” he snapped. His movements were almost jerky as he began screwing in the new lock to the bottom of the window. “No, worse than him. At least he can’t help what he is. I know better.”

You didn’t know what to say, stunned by the self-loathing laid bare in his tone.

“But… you can’t control it. You said so yourself you didn’t know why it happened.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still did it.”

His tone brokered no argument, his fingers pressing into the wood so hard the window gave an ominous creak. Bucky was going to break your window even worse than before if he kept it up. Your thoughts turned to defusing the situation and making the best of the bad hand you’d been dealt.

You walked across the room and sat on the edge of your bed, still a couple feet from him but close enough to show you weren’t afraid. You felt fine, not under the influence of crazy sex pheromones yet, so you made a deliberate showing of not keeping your distance.

Bucky noticed immediately; his head remained toward the window but his tapered ear perked as he watched from out of the corner of his eye. His tail stopped its agitated staccato rhythm and paused before slightly leaning your way, as if curious by your presence. From this close distance you could see it was completely smooth, and you wondered what it was like to run your fingers across it.

A sudden memory assailed you: lying on your stomach, Bucky’s weight pressed against your back as you gripped the sheets and bit into your pillow. And then something else, something smooth and long sliding under your hip and rubbing against your—_oh, God,_ _he used his tail to get me off._

You abruptly looked down at the covers, your cheeks heating like a fully-stocked furnace, blazing away as you wanted to melt into the ground and disappear. What was wrong with you? You’d suspected Bucky had put some kind of spell on you before, and now you understood it better, but as far as you knew he wasn’t flooded you with pheromones right at this moment. So why were you still… _feeling_ something? You weren’t out-of-your-mind horny like the last two times, but you were finding yourself a little bit aroused just being near him. You didn’t understand it and you sure as hell didn’t like it.

“What do we do?” You picked at a loose stitching with your fingers as you spoke. Anything to keep you from staring at him.

_“We_ don’t do anything,” he said. _“You _are going to go on living your life as you normally would. I meant it when I said I would figure it out, but I can’t do that and worry about you at the same time. So just… keep your head down and act as if nothing’s changed.”

You snapped your head up, glaring at him. “You’re_ shitting_ me.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, peering between the angles of his folded wings. “Nope. I’m pretty damn serious.”

“How am I supposed to pretend that everything is fine? What about… what if it gets bad again?” You knew you were being generous with your wording; of course it would get bad again. By the slight shuffling of his wings and the agitated swish of his tail, Bucky knew it too.

“Then we deal with it.” He turned back towards the window, continuing to drill in the new lock into the notch where the old one had sat. It looked nearly done; you were abruptly afraid for the conversation to end and for Bucky to leave. You didn’t want to handle this terrifying situation alone. You couldn’t tell your mom. You were friendly with people at work but you didn’t have anyone to confide in. Were you supposed to just wait for the next time your sigil burned, like the veritable Sword of Damocles hanging over your head?

“When?”

“_When_ what?” he asked, not looking up.

“When is it going to happen again?”

The hard lines of his shoulders went rigid. “I don’t know.”

“Another month? Longer? Shorter?”

“I don’t _know.”_

“Is it based on time? Something else? What’s going to trigger it again?”

_“I said I don’t—“_ He took a breath, short and harsh. His tail, which you expected to be lashing angrily, instead curled tightly around his leg as if trying to seek comfort.

You felt oddly guilty.

“Well, um, how often do you have to feed? Maybe it’s tied to like, demonic feeding cycles, or something. Or maybe a lunar cycle? Does that involve demons? Or is that werewolves?” You presented it as a joke, albeit a bad one, hoping to diffuse the tension in the air. It wouldn’t be smart to alienate your only… ally? Is that what he was? If he was, Bucky was of the reluctant variety.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, instead gathering up his tools and replacing them back in the kit. You hadn’t even realized he had finished.

When he finally spoke, you had to strain to listen to hear his words over the thrum of your heater.

“When I was just starting to become like this, I could go a month without feeding. The more I fed, the more my body changed, the more that time shortened.”

You didn’t like where this was going, but you knew what you had to ask next. “And when you became a full demon?”

He half-turned toward you and you could finally see the look on his face. He was frowning like he usually was, unhappiness creasing his brows, but there was a glassy quality in his eyes you didn’t like one bit. If you hadn’t known better, you would have said he was afraid.

Maybe you didn’t know better.

“Once a week. Less, if there were injuries to heal.”

The blood drained from your face. A _week?_ That was all? _Jesus._

“But you’re not a demon and this isn’t the same thing. We don’t know if they’re even related.” He was quick to try and assuage you, but it was a cold comfort.

“They seem pretty damn related,” you said with a laugh that sounded brittle and alien coming from your own mouth. “It only got better after we—after you fed on me. And it wasn’t just pain. It was more than the irritated skin and the bleeding. You know that, right? You know there was more than that?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, to describe the mortifying desire, growing until it was more than distracting. It had been all-consuming to the point where your life had been barely livable, the fantasies filling your every thought until all you had wanted was relief you couldn’t truly reach.

It had been confusing, then annoying, until finally there had been genuine fear. You would have gone to the hospital if Bucky hadn’t intervened, and who knew what would have happened then?

You didn’t realize until that moment how earnest you were for his understanding, so much so that you didn’t care that your voice shook and your eyes burned. Your carefully crafted composure was slipping as you desperately needed some kind of reassurance.

By the soft sadness in his eyes, he could see it.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Against all rational thought, you wanted him to touch you. Not in a sexual way, but just to be comforted by another person. You wished he would reach out and wrap you in a warm embrace, and for a few seconds, you wouldn’t have to feel so devastatingly _alone._

But he wasn’t going to. And you weren’t going to ask.

You nodded, reiterating to yourself that you would be_ fine_, you could survive this. You forced the trembling in your chin to stop and you cleared your throat while rising to your feet.

“Thank you for fixing my window. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said with a tiny hint of a smile. “You break it, you fix it, that’s what Ma always said. Where’s your phone?”

You blinked at the abrupt non-sequitur. “Huh?”

“Your phone. Let me see it.”

You frowned at him but patted your pockets anyway, pulling out your phone and, after a pause, handed it to him. He took it in his mostly human hand, stared at the screen for a second, and then scoffed in annoyance.

“Unlock it. Please?” he added, probably in an attempt to be polite. Still frowning, you took the phone back, unlocked it with the pad of your finger, and handed it back. Buck held it carefully in his demonic hand, pressing the screen with his other finger. You wondered if your phone would even register his gnarled claws as anything remotely like a finger.

“There,” he said, handing it out to you. You took it and saw your contacts list was open. “If you need to reach me, for whatever reason? Call.”

You looked up at him, eyes slightly widened. “You have a phone?”

His face creased in a way that would have been funny under other circumstances, somewhere between consternation and amusement.

“Yes. I have a phone.”

“Huh. I wasn’t really… expecting that.” Before you could rein in your curiosity, you asked, “Do you have a car?”

His eyes narrowed questioningly. “I have wings.”

“Wait, you can actually_ fly_ with those things? How? I thought they were just for, uh, for show.” You paused. “Do you live in a house? Or do you have, like, a secret bat cave?”

Instead of answering, he rolled his eyes, tucked his toolkit under his armored arm, and left you standing in the bedroom, your phone in your hand and questions still on your lips. You quickly hurried after him, following him to your front door.

“Surely there’s a secret lair involved here.”

He snorted but didn’t respond. Instead, he paused before opening your front door. His back and the crown of his head shimmered for a moment, and you watched in real time as his wings vanished, his horns melted into the air, and his angular legs and feet morphed into straight calves and black boots.

You couldn’t help it, the kid inside you was full of wonder. If you hadn’t been so scared of your situation, you knew you would have been squealing with joy at seeing something so… well… _magical._

As it was, you still had a pretty dopey grin on your face by the time Bucky turned around. He eyed your expression for so long that your smile faded away, melting into nothingness as if you had just performed an illusion of your own.

You were being stupid, an idiot, and his stern demeanor simply reminded you of the fact there was nothing amazing or joyous about this situation.

Bucky didn’t comment on it, all he said was, “You call me, day or not, if something happens. Including if the sigil gets worse. Got it?”

You nodded wordlessly. Seemingly satisfied with your silent agreement, he turned toward the door and turned the knob with his gloved hand.

He hesitated for the briefest moment; you had the sense he wanted to say something, but with a slight fall of his shoulders he crossed the threshold and departed.

You leaned against your open doorway and watched as he walked down the old faded blue hallway carpet. Someone else caught your eye, a second observer. Mr. Morris, the ornery older man who lived next door and was the perpetrator of all the wall-banging, glanced between you and Bucky’s retreating figure, his mouth turned into a suspicious frown.

_Fantastic. Just what I need._

You quickly pulled back into your apartment and shut the door, releasing a trapped breath. Hopefully your nosey neighbor would be the worst of your worries, but you doubted it.

As you looked down at your covered shoulder, you reflected on the irony of having to rely on Bucky to rescue you from this situation. It was the _Alp_ all over again. Why would this man—you had seen too many glimpses of his humanity to think of him simply as a demon—go out of his way to help you? If he had been watching you all these years, surely he would have gotten bored by now after seeing how empty and lonely your life was. There was a reason you were such a solitary person. People inevitably left, so you cut right to the chase and isolated yourself.

It was better to be alone than to be disappointed, a cynical view but one that had been well-earned in your eyes. Bucky couldn’t help you, even if he truly wanted to. It wasn’t his fault. That’s just how your luck ran, and this time wouldn’t be any different.

Feeling a smooth weight in your hand, you realized your fingers were curled tightly around your phone. You unlocked it and brought up the contact list but you couldn’t find any new entries under the B’s. No _Bucky_, no_ Barnes_, not even a sneaky _Buchanan._

Frowning, you scrolled through the list, wondering if he hadn’t bothered to put down his number after all. He had been pretty insistent about you contacting him, so you continued to search, figuring he had put it under a different name so as not to arouse suspicion from anyone who looked at your phone.

You found it. The only entry under “J.” A single name.

_James._


	7. Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the demon sigil starts to burn after only two weeks, you don't go to Bucky. Instead, you try to take care of the problem yourself, and find out exactly why that's such a terrible idea.

Mid-December. A month and a half since Halloween. Two weeks since you’d last seen Bucky in your apartment. The holidays were fast approaching, and you were stuck at the office working overtime into the early hours of the night.

You stared blankly at your work screen, wishing you were anywhere but here. Normally you’d be at home on the couch, watching a series on your laptop with Monster curled on your legs. You needed the extra cash for gifts for your family, not to mention your rent had been hiked again. Pretty soon you wouldn’t have a place to live if your landlord kept it up.

Leaning your elbow against the desk, you rubbed at your temple tiredly. You didn’t have a headache exactly, but there had been a mounting pressure in your head all day, accompanied by an increasing ache between your legs you _definitely_ didn’t want to think about. Nor did you want to acknowledge the burning on the cusp of your shoulder.

You were doing a pretty great job at not thinking about anything in particular, especially not a certain demon.

Two weeks. It had only been two weeks since Bucky had, well, _fed_ on you. The mark had gone back to being barely noticeable that next morning. There was no denying that its condition was directly related to Bucky’s feeding cycle, which meant if it was getting worse he would be paying you a visit soon.

You shivered unpleasantly. Last time, the demon sigil hadn’t started to get this bad until the fourth week. You had hoped you would have a little more time, that maybe it would get better, but that was just wishful thinking because it hadn’t. It never would. This was your life now, and yet you had a hard time accepting it despite the fact there was no point in playing pretend.

As if your life couldn’t get worse, you had somewhere to be in an hour. Stacey was throwing yet another party for the office. You had sent the RSVP at a time when things had been quiet and you hadn’t expected to deal with your newfound _condition_ until at least Christmas.

It wasn’t that bad _yet_. You could still go. You_ should_ go. You hated these office gatherings—you’d only convinced yourself to the Halloween party because Davin had been there, and what a disaster that had turned out to be—but the managers took notice of these kinds of things. Make an effort and all that. You’d put your middle finger up to the interoffice politics if you could, but you needed a raise to stay at your complex. It wasn’t rent-controlled, because nothing in New York was anymore, but it was still cheaper than anything else in the area. If you lost your apartment now you’d have to move out of the city.

Or worse, move back home. There was no way in hell you were doing that, not with Bucky in the picture. You shuddered at the thought of your mom meeting him. Disguised in his human illusion, she would be delighted at the pretty picture he painted, ignorant of what truly lay beneath.

You shook off the image; it was best to burn that bridge when you came to it. For now, you had to bite the bullet and make an appearance at this damned party. For a little while, at least. Show you give a shit about this stupid job, and then go home and deal with your embarrassing problem later.

It wasn’t much of a solution, but you knew there would be alcohol at the party, and that was more than enough to get you to shut off your workstation, clock out, and leave the office.

The night was colder than you expected. You stuck your hands in your pockets and pulled your thin peacoat around your waist with a shiver. You knew you should go home and get your actual winter jacket out of the closet, not to mention change out of your long skirt for some sensible pants, but you also knew if you did you’d find some excuse to just stay home and forego the party altogether.

So you pulled the collar tight around your neck as you got into your tiny car, praying the car battery hadn’t died again from the cold. It would have been a good excuse to skip out on your commitments, but the idea of waiting in the freezing night for an Uber to come pick you up was not your idea of a decent alternative.

To your relief, the engine turned with only a slight stutter, and before long you were roving down the dark streets. It was getting late and you were far enough from the epicenter of the city that it was fairly empty. With barely any traffic it only took you ten minutes to get to Stacey’s townhouse, and then another five minutes to find parking. By the time you were on her stoop, the finger you pressed into the doorbell had gone numb and shaky.

As you waited for someone to come to the door, the sound of muffled music coming from inside, you bounced on your heels to ward off the cold. Your breath fogged in front of you like the billows of a steam engine or the exhale of a fiery dragon.

_Can demons breathe fire?_ Probably not. They _did _seem to have some kind of magic and there was no reason to think some of it couldn’t be elemental in nature. You wondered if Bucky knew the answer. You had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to talk about anything demonic-related.

In fact, you thought he didn’t enjoy talking to you at all—

The hairs on your nape stood up. You spun around on your heels but the street behind you was dark and empty. You reached up and rubbed at the back of your neck, the movement sending a sharp twist through the muscle of your shoulder. You flinched as the burn saturated your muscle, setting your nerves on fire.

The door opened with a swing and you jumped, nearly spilling down the steps and out onto the sidewalk.

A hand shot out to grab your arm, preventing you from face-planting into the concrete. Green eyes stared back at you from under a mop of blond hair.

Davin. _Of course._ Who else had such bad timing? Between him and Bucky it might have been a tie.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, flashing his pearly whites. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s fine.” You tried for a smile and hoped it wasn’t a grimace. “Sorry I’m late. Just finished up at the office.”

He released your arm after lingering a second too longer than you would have liked. Still smiling at you, he pressed his back to the door to hold it open for you. “You’re right on time.”

You bore down on your discomfort as you squeezed past him over the threshold, resentful for having to do so in the first place. Why couldn’t he have just held the door open for you like a normal human being and not make everything so awkward?

The air inside was stifling from the heat of pressed bodies and the brick fireplace licking around fake logs. It did nothing to improve your mood or soothe your worries. Had your skin already been flushed and warm?

After greeting your coworkers and making sure Stacey saw you had shown up—you were making an effort,_ goddammit_—you lost Davin in the crowd and made a beeline straight for the side table where you’d spotted the wine bottle and glasses earlier. Maybe some alcohol would take the edge off the painful heat of your shoulder.

It did, and quite well, with the unfortunate side effect that it left a pleasant heat behind. You didn’t know if it was the effects of the alcohol or your arousal with the discomfort of pain removed, but the pressure building in your core increased at an alarming rate.

If being extra horny was the _only_ symptom, you might have decided to risk it and leave the party early. Instead, you found yourself locked in the upstairs bathroom, mortified and panicked.

The pleasant burn had risen into a tantalizing fire, covering your skin in prickles of heat and sweat. Your heart was thudding frantically in your chest, your hands shook so hard you could no longer hold a glass of wine, and every time your thighs rubbed together you had to bite your lip to silence a whimper.

You didn’t think anyone had seen you flee to the upstairs bathroom, and you prayed they hadn’t, because what you were about to do was insanely humiliating. You had little choice; you couldn’t wait a second longer, and the idea that relief was only a minute or two away was too tempting.

Still, you never thought you would stoop so low as to get yourself off in your boss’ house, so you triple-checked that the door was locked before pulling up your thick skirt and shoving your hand down your underwear.

_Just get it over with. It won’t take long. Just—fuck—_

You were ridiculously slick, underwear soaked by your own juices, and your clit was engorged past anything you had felt before.

You tried not to think of anything, anything _at all_, but it proved as futile as it always did. Your mind happily conjured up images of Bucky, supplied with ample memories of his warm skin and rigid muscles.

Both times he’d fed on you, you’d been out of your mind with need, but you remembered very specific details. The unusual heat of his skin, smooth over the parts he was human and rough and textured where he wasn’t. Even his scent, earthy and piney, was easy to recall as soon as you tried.

You bit your lip and leaned against the wall, trying to be as quiet as possible, knowing you were close. The relief lasted only ten, maybe fifteen seconds. Then it hit a plateau, a ceiling blocking you from reaching the peak.

_What the hell?_

You were right there, _so close_ but unable to go any further. Your shoulder throbbed in time with your heartbeat, frantically fast as you tried, and failed, to finish. You released a muffled sob and you finally jerked your hand from out of your underwear. Even your clit was throbbing in time with your heartbeat, each pulse a cruel torment.

You leaned over the sink, panting, trying to still your racing heart and heated body. After washing your hands with jerky movements, you splashed cold water on your face and dabbed a wet cloth along the back of your neck.

Nothing helped. Your body didn’t calm down and you suspected you’d made it even worse. Tears pricked your eyes; you could barely stand straight, your core feeling swollen and disabused, yet empty and aching with need all at once.

You managed to pull out your phone and unlock it, bringing up the home screen, but after tapping your contact list… you paused.

_No. I can handle this. Drive home and deal with it there. _Though if by “dealing with it” was as effective there as it had been here, you didn’t know what you would do.

Making sure your skirt was smoothed over your legs and absent of wrinkles, you turned toward the door and stumbled on your first step. You grabbed onto the nearby towel rack, your knees trembling as your core tightened so hard you felt you would snap.

You closed your eyes and took several calming breaths, or tried; what came out was more a whimper than a breath. _Focus._ One thing at a time. Make it out of the bathroom. Worry about what comes next later.

Very logical in theory, not so much in practice. You had to lean against the wall like a drunk, scooting yourself along until you came to the door, your feet dragging along the nice marble tiles. You kept your purse tight at your side with one arm, knowing if you dropped it, it would be a lost cause. There was no way you could stand straight on your own, let alone bend down, without losing what little balance you had left.

Unlocking the door, you carefully pulled it open, leaning on it generously as you checked down the hallway. Everything looked clear, and from the noise coming up the landing, all the partygoers were still downstairs. You hoped you hadn’t been missed and you could slip out the front door before someone saw you and, perhaps rightly, took your car keys.

With the gingerness of the inebriated, you slid along the wall toward the stairs at the end of the hall. Each step brought with it a fresh wave of maddening desire and frustrated throbbing. Sweat beaded your skin, wetting the hair to your forehead and causing your clothes to stick to you.

You only made it halfway when you had to stop, leaning your forehead against the wall. You couldn’t do this. Even if you made it to the stairs, you’d never make it down them without breaking your neck. What was worse, the throbbing in your shoulder had become a searing heat that was spreading through the rest of your body.

The sensation was familiar and had happened only once before, when you’d gotten home and Bucky had been… he’d been…

Your eyes snapped open at the same moment a hand gripped you around the arm and pulled you sideways, dragging you into a room. The door shut behind you and you were immediately shoved against it. You would have screamed if your mouth hadn’t been covered by something rough and unyielding.

The room was dim except for the moonlight that came in through the slightly ajar window, but it could have been pitch black and you would have known who it was. You felt it down in your bones as the scent of pine and earth flooded your senses.

Bucky glared down at you, his eyes dark with fury and his lips slightly bared in a silent snarl. Snowflakes still dusted his hair and the shoulders of his windbreaker, and his tail lashed angrily behind him.

“Why didn’t you _call me?”_

Your body reacted entirely against your consent; you groaned into his hand as you rubbed yourself against the very noticeable bulge in his pants. The cold air drifting in from outside was a relief against your heated skin but it was barely a bandaid against the tide of want that threatened to pull you under and drown you.

He removed his hand so you could answer. When you started to slide down the wall, he grabbed you by the arms and pushed you back against the closed door. You felt animalistic with your raw need, barely even human, and you sounded just like one as a pained whine left your throat.

A small part of you, the rational side that was still somehow buried deep in your brain, wondered _how _he knew you were in trouble. How he always seemed to know.

“I m-made it worse,” you gasped, breath hitching at the painful tightening in your lower belly. “So much, worse. I didn’t t-think… Please.” You closed your eyes as a short gasp, one that could have been a sob, bubbled up from your throat. “I need… please… I’m sorry…”

You were babbling, desperate and afraid, but aware enough to feel the deep sting of humiliation. You didn’t want to beg him for it, but God, you were more than willing if that’s what it took.

“Okay,” Bucky said. The rough edge to his voice was completely gone. “Okay.”

Pulling back only far enough to reach the front of his pants, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper. Like a Pavlovian response, saliva flooded your mouth at the sound, anticipation tightening your abdominal muscles.

When he pulled out his cock, you were sure there was a mistake. You hadn’t seen it the second night, but the first night you had. Time had made you convince yourself that you had imagined the knobby ridges on the underside, the slightly pointed head, and the two strange knots at the base.

You hadn’t been hallucinating or imagining things, and in fact, your fuzzy memories had severely underestimated the sheer size of him. The shock gave you a brief window of lucidity, and in it, you were fully convinced there was _no fucking way_ this was going to work. His cock was at least ten, maybe even eleven inches, and looked every bit as deadly as the rest of him.

So why was it that at the sight of him, hard and bare before you, was exactly what you wanted?

Bucky grabbed you around the hips and lifted you up; you didn’t hesitate to wrap your legs around his waist, squirming and eager. Your fingers trembled as you held onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes tight and leaning your head back to brace it against the door as you felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance. He hadn’t even bothered to take off your underwear; he had simply pulled them to the side to get the access he needed.

He began to push, and impossibly, you felt your body give, opening up to him. The stretch to your walls was a burning pleasure that stole your breath, the soft ridges of his cock sending trembling through your limbs.

Bucky kept going, somehow easing his way inside, your body accommodating him with eager obedience. You could feel your juices dripping down your ass, far more than was normal, but that simply didn’t explain how you could take all of him at all, let alone so easily.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The relief as his hips finally met yours, the protrusions at the base stretching you to impossible fullness, made you nearly sob. Your eyes burned; you should have been mortified as the tears run down your cheeks, but all you could think of was how goddamn grateful you were that some of the pressure had lessened.

Bucky gently shushed you, his lips tracing over your face, surprisingly tender as he almost kissed away the lingering tears. You wrapped your arms around his neck as an anchor, pulling him close as the need suddenly spiked in your core again. He groaned as you tightened around his cock despite the fact he wasn’t moving.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He mumbled nonsensical comfort into your ear. You got the sense he was trying to take it slow, gentler this time, and you wanted that comfort almost as desperately as you needed release. A part of you wanted to be held, actually kissed, some kind of feeling of human intimacy.

The other part of you, the one that had hijacked your life and turned it into a nightmare, won out in the end. Your legs tightened around him as you whimpered, _“Please.”_

He pulled you away from the door, holding your weight on his cock as he gripped your ass with his hands, and you gave a muffled cry as he practically slammed your back against the wall next to the door.

Bucky held onto you tight, sending your body to new heights as each thrust of his cock tightened you further. You weren’t going to last long, for which you were grateful, but just as your core began to pulse Bucky went stock still.

You gave a muffled cry, frustrated at the loss of movement. He gritted his teeth and pressed his armored hand over your mouth again, holding you still when you squirmed against him.

Distant footsteps thudded up the steps to the second floor landing, only a few feet away on the other side of the wall you were currently being pressed against.

You should have been horrified at the idea of being caught, but the only thing that occupied your world was the feeling of being trapped, impaled on Bucky’s cock and unable to move.

As if they had a mind of their own, your hips ground against his, your body seeking relief any way you could. Bucky’s breath hitched and he pushed hard against you, completely pinning you between his pelvis and the wall as he gave you a warning glare.

The footsteps moved past whatever room you were in—it looked to be an office or a study—and you heard the bathroom door close. Your rational mind you knew you had to wait until they left, but your traitorous body was a live wire, shivering with an unending current.

Bucky’s expression was tight as a rubber band. It only made it worse, seeing him on the knife’s edge of control. In fact, he seemed much more in control than you were, and his eyes weren’t completely black like they had been both times previously.

You didn’t know what it meant, all you knew was you needed friction like you needed air. Unable to move anything more than your mouth, you parted your lips and licked the underside of his rough palm. It tasted like salt with a hint of something metallic. By his widening eyes, he could somehow feel your tongue on his hardened skin.

He moved his palm away and you softly whined at the absence, but he quickly replaced it with his fingers, laying them across your lips. You took them greedily, closing your mouth around two of them. The tips of his clawed nails were against your tongue, but they weren’t sharp or hooked, and the pointed pressure felt weirdly good.

His expression was intensely fascinated, watching your face as your tongue swirled around the armored segments of his fingers. You suddenly wanted to know what his cock felt like in your mouth, heavy on your tongue, which was ridiculous because it was already imbedded deep inside you. How greedy and insatiable could you possibly be?

You closed your eyes to absorb the sensation, letting the taste on your tongue and the stretch of his cock distract you and keep you from losing your mind. Bucky’s composure seemed just as thin; the claws of his other hand were digging into your hips and he buried his nose into your hair, inhaling you deeply. The planes of his body were pressed so tight against yours you could feel each breath, sense each heartbeat.

It was almost surreal, the intensity of the moment, and it felt like one of you was going to snap regardless of who would hear in the next room.

Finally, you heard the bathroom door open, proceeded by footsteps down the hallway. The person must have just gotten out of earshot, because Bucky pulled back sharply and plunged into you, hard and without warning.

Your choked cry was muffled around his fingers. Bucky gripped your thighs with both of his hands and fucked up into you, thrusting you on his cock without slowing. Something sinewy and strong wrapped around your ankle, his tail pulling your right leg tighter around him.

_Fuck,_ you were nearly there, maddeningly approaching the edge. Bucky slowed his pace but made the impact closer, rolling his hips tight against you. His harsh breath was warm on your cheek, his clawed fingers pushing down into your tongue.

With a high-pitched whine in your throat, your orgasm hit you hard and swept you away in its current. You tightened around him so severely you were sure one of you would break—probably you. You bit down on his fingers, the armored skin unyielding and hard on your teeth, but the pressure on your jaw helped keep you grounded.

It seemed to go on and on, wave after wave sweeping through you. Each time you thought it was over, the knot at the base of his cock would throb, shooting an echo of pleasure throughout your pelvic and abdominal muscles.

Though you whimpered and writhed against him, Bucky was oddly quiet and still. The only sign of control that slipped past was his trembling fingers as he held onto you, his forehead leaning against your temple.

Your thoughts were scattered, and you weren’t thinking when you turned your head toward him and pressed your nose into his cheek. You didn’t know what the hell made you do it, but Bucky tensed and quickly pulled his head away, his expression closed off and unreadable.

To your complete surprise, it _stung._

Not meeting your eye, he held the base of his cock and started to pull out of you. It was more difficult coming out than going in, and for a moment you thought he might be_ stuck_.

You tried not to squirm at the weird sensation, and failed anyway. “Does it hurt?” Now he did meet your gaze, concern in his blue eyes.

Shaking your head, you said, “Feels… weird.” Your voice was brittle, as if on the verge of breaking. He clenched his jaw hard enough for you to see the muscles pull taut.

“Okay. Just… try to relax. Breathe. I think it’s… almost out.” He sounded unsure but not surprised.

You wondered if that had happened before; your memories of the last two times were fuzzy and dreamlike compared to how crystal-clear this had been.

You weren’t sure you preferred remembering.

Delicately, inch by tortuous inch, Bucky finally managed to pull out completely. Only holding onto you with his armored arm, he quickly grabbed you with the other so you wouldn’t fall.

Your body still felt heavy and laden with the afterglow of your orgasm, but by the time Bucky set you down on your own two feet, the humiliation of what you’d done, of what you had desperately _begged_ him to do, made you want to curl in on yourself.

The wet discomfort of his cum soaking your ruined underwear and dripping down your thigh did nothing to make you feel less used and stained.

“Can you walk?” Despite the fact he wouldn’t meet your eye again, he still hovered over you. Probably waiting to see if you would pass out.

“Yes,” you mumbled even though you had absolutely no proof of that. You sighted your purse on the ground near the door, left abandoned in your desperation to be fucked by him as quickly as possible. The mortification licked at your cheeks as you teetered toward the bag.

Bucky moved forward, as if to help, but you flinched away from him. You could practically feel the pity coming off him in waves, and you didn’t want it. You didn’t need it. You were _fine._

“I tried to take as little as possible.” He looked absolutely miserable as he said it, his shoulders hunched as his tail drooped near his ankle. “So you wouldn’t be exhausted. You should… should be able to make it home okay.”

“Thanks,” you said, sounding hollower than you meant to. You were tired, more than just physically, and the blissful state of your body clashing with the horror of your earlier need made your heart hurt. You needed to get out of that room, that fucking _house,_ and into the comfort of your car.

Pressing your lips together to hold back the regret on your tongue, you turned and opened the door, barging into the hallway. Thankfully no one was there, and leaving Bucky without another word, you all but fled across the hallway to the bathroom.

You desperately wanted out of there, but you couldn’t do that until you cleaned up the mess currently running down your thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me so I had to shorten it. Don't worry, next update you'll see how she manages to make it home. ;)


	8. Noisome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky have the opportunity to talk. By the end of the conversation, not only do you feel hopeless about your situation, you’re also pretty sure Bucky hates you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mild sexual content, demon!Bucky is cranky

Shutting the door hard behind you, you rushed to the sink, pulled up your skirt, yanked down your underwear, and began to clean yourself with a mixture of warm water and tissues. Your underwear was ruined to the point you had to simply take them off, dry them as best you could, and ball them up and shove them into your purse.

You made the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror. Hair disheveled, flushed cheeks, and glazed eyes, it obvious to anyone who saw what you had just done.

The state of your self-esteem couldn’t have fallen much farther, but somehow, it did.

After rinsing off your face and trying to put your hair into a more manageable position, you left the bathroom and reluctantly made your way back to the landing. Your legs still tingled and your nerves thrummed, but you were much steadier than you had been minutes ago.

_All thanks to Bucky’s magical cock._

Hot humiliation stung your eyes, and you were glad he wasn’t there to see it. Dealing with the shame on your own was manageable; having an audience to bear witness was too much.

By the time you made it down the stairs, your exhaustion had caught up to your frazzled nerves. Focusing only on the front door, you silently begged life and fate to give you a reprieve for _once_ and let you escape unnoticed.

So of course, you heard Davin’s voice ring out above the party din, calling your name.

You ignored it and grabbed your coat off the coat rack, nearly tipping it over in your haste to get the hell out of there.

“Hey! You leaving already?”

He hadn’t taken your silence as a sign to _fuck off_ and now walked at your elbow. You could feel his intense scrutiny, especially when you stumbled on a snag of the carpet in the foyer, further completing the appearance that you were either wasted… or had been shamelessly fucked against a wall.

Your body warmed with interest at the reminder.

Oh, come _on!_

“Yeah,” you said in a hurried tone. “Not feeling so good.”

You prayed he took the hint. He didn’t.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” He moved ahead and turned his body toward you, clearly trying to get you to meet his eye. “Do you need help? Maybe a ride back to your place? I could take you, no problem.”

“No. Thank you,” you added to be polite as you passed him. The door was just a couple feet ahead of you and you could nearly taste freedom. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Something about his tone made the nape of your neck tense unpleasantly. You paused, hand slightly lifted to grip the handle, but instead you turned to stare him full in the face.

“What does that mean?”

He blinked. “I, uh, don’t mean anything. Just… I know sometimes you drink at these things, and I—“

“Yeah, I do.” You pulled your purse tighter against your side. “And that’s frankly none of your business, Davin.”

“Whoa.” He put his palms up as if warding off your sharp words. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just worried, you know?”

“Well, _don’t,” _you snapped. “My level of alcohol consumption isn’t any concern of yours.”

Heat curdled in your chest, growing more rapidly than you were prepared for. This wasn’t the heat of need or desire; it was the indignation of taking too-fucking-much and not being able to take any more.

“Jesus, _okay_.” He ran a hand through his hair, probably to smooth it but all it did was ruffle the blond strands further. “I don’t know why you brush me off and ignore me when all I’m trying to do is be nice—“

“Because I want you to leave me alone, Davin! I want you to leave me _the fuck_ alone!”

His eyes went wide as saucers. You realized, too late, the noise from the living room and kitchen had died a quick death. Thick, humiliating silence met your ears. Out of the corner of your eye you could see people turned toward you, into bright red hair that had to belong to Stacey.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, I shouldn’t have, why did I—_

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tearing away from Davin’s frozen expression to grab the door and yank it open in your unbridled panic.

Freezing air struck you without mercy, flurries that had just started to fall stinging and biting your cheeks, but you didn’t slow your pace. You fumbled for your car keys, hands clumsy from distress and the dropping temperature. By the time you unlocked the door and sat inside, your fingers were going numb at the tips. Turning on your car and blasting the heater, you leaned your forehead against the steering wheel.

_I shouldn’t have done that,_ you lamented. _Any of it._ _What a fucking disaster of a night. _You didn’t know how you were going to show your face at work after this.

And then there was Bucky…

Your stomach curdled at the memories of your overwhelming need, but worse, how you had started to crack. You’d thought you could just treat this as an unpleasant but necessary thing, stay at a safe emotional distance and view the situation with a clinical lens. You had either overestimated yourself, or underestimated what it actually meant to go through this… two, three, _four _times a _month?_

Huddling against the wheel, you let a full minute pass. Then, two minutes. You were far enough from Stacey’s house that you didn’t have to worry about stumbling into anyone, and the sound of snowflakes hitting your windshield was soothing. You knew you should leave before the winter storm really hit, but you didn’t look forward to stewing in your misery at home, either.

Plus… the exhaustion was really startling to settle in, and it would be so easily to just close your eyes and float away. You were warm, relatively comfortable, and the lull of your engine and the sound of the air vents could easily sing you to sleep…

…A tap at the window directly next to your head made you flinch. Sitting up with a jerk, you expected to see a cop, ready to tell you off for sleeping in your car. Or worse, Davin had found you and wanted to talk.

It was neither of those things. Even through the fogging glass you recognized the silhouette, though it was altered from its usual intimidating shape. You quickly pressed the button to roll down the window, blinking up at the figure just outside your window.

Bucky’s unhappy frown was there to greet you, his hands deep in his jacket pockets with his shoulders hunched against the wind. His wings, tail, and horns were conspicuously absent, his legs and feet human, his ears round instead of angular. His human disguise was flawless, but it still made you nervous to see him in public and so exposed.

“What are you still doing here?” you blurted out. If he took the blunt question offensively, he didn’t show it beyond a slight deepening of his frown.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing.” When you stared at him blankly, he sighed through his nostrils and shifted his weight. “I waited to make sure you left without any problems. The aftereffects can be… wearing.”

You wondered how good his hearing was, how much he had heard of your yelling.

Quite a bit, judging by the way he wouldn’t meet your eye for long.

_Great._

You leaned your head back against the car seat, letting the tension fill your body, and released a heavy breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The hard lines of his face softened.

“Why don’t you start by letting me drive you home?”

Turning your head to stare up at him, you waited for the punchline. None came.

“You… can drive?”

He rolled his eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Believe it or not, folks tend to notice demons flying around the city. Yeah, I know how to drive.”

_For a guy who frowns constantly and seems to have the levity of a mortician, he sure loves doling out the snark._

You carefully weighed your options, dubious about letting anyone else behind the wheel of your car, but at the same time… you didn’t miss the restless tension in his body, worsening the longer he stood there. Snow was drifting down more heavily now, catching in his hair and leaving a fine layer of white on his shoulders.

“Okay.” You gave a half-timid, half-careless shrug and unlocked the door.

With some difficulty you slid across the console and into the passenger seat, not wanting to go outside if you had to. The temperature was dropping by the second due to the early winter storm and you were not dressed to brave the chill.

The movement made your thighs rub together, tacky with the remnants of your earlier activities. Your face flushed hot as he opened the door and got into the driver’s seat, jostling your tiny car with the additional weight.

With Bucky inside the space was nearly-claustrophobic, and he seemed aware of it as he shifted in the seat, moving it back as far as it would go to accommodate his longer legs.

The inside of the car grew even warmer with the additional body heat, and you had no choice but to share the same air. His scent wasn’t overpowering like it had been a few minutes ago, but it was still there, pleasant and enticing.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt and prayed he didn’t notice, but Bucky seemed occupied with checking for traffic and pulling out into the wet street.

The streetlights cast an eerie glow over the fleshly fallen snow, and it felt like the entire world was asleep. The smart folks had checked the weather and had decided to stay home, and God, you wished you’d done the same.

If you were hoping Bucky would start the conversation, you would have been disappointed. He remained as taciturn as ever, his gloved hands firmly on the wheel as his blue eyes never wavered from the road. His driving was careful and unhurried, but at this speed it would be quite a while before you got home.

There was no way you were going to make it the entire way in this unbearable silence.

“So. Uh.”

Bucky kept his gaze fixed forward. “Yes?”

“When you…” You fumbled for the right words, wanting to choose them carefully, but once you started speaking it was like you couldn’t stop. “When you disguise yourself like that, is it magic? Are your wings and tail and horns still there and stuff, or do they vanish? What does it feel like? How long can you keep it going? If someone took a picture of you, would the camera catch it?”

He snorted at your barrage of nervous questions, though there was a twitch of amusement in his cheek.

“It’s something demons can learn to do. Everything is still intact, just hidden from human sight, including cameras. It’s just a very strong illusion. It feels like…”

He hesitated and licked the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Like holding your breath. Or trying to hold a smile for too long. It can get uncomfortable, tingles like a foot that falls asleep, but it doesn’t hurt. I can maintain the guise for a few hours, but it does drain my energy. If I’m asleep, unconscious, or in a heat, I can’t summon it.”

You kept your rapt attention on his face, fascinated in equal parts by the fantastical aspects of being a demon and by the soft, lulling quality of his voice. You hadn’t heard him speak so much at once, and you realized the tension of your muscles had started to relax of their own accord.

_“_A_ guise?_” you asked. “That’s what you call it?”

“That’s what my handlers called it.”

You felt the blood rush from your face. It was so easy to forget how he had become this way, especially since the details you knew were relatively sparse and unpleasant. You’d known HYDRA was evil, but forcing people to become demons was still a lot to wrap your head around.

Wanting to change the subject, you quickly pushed on.

“The first time you showed it to me, your left arm was entirely gone, but it looks… fine now. Or at least whole. Can you make it look human?”

Bucky briefly glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before looking forward again.

“No. The parts of me that… that aren’t human can’t be made to look human. I can only make them vanish. But, I _can_ be selective with the guise. Hide some things and not others. If I can cover my arm by wearing a jacket or something similar, I keep it intact. More useful that way.”

You eyed the covered appendage. It made sense, and you could see how it would be convenient to have both arms, even if one was demonic, but it had to be a pain to keep constantly covered. You wondered what he did during the sultry, humid summers. Maybe his demonic nature let him tolerate higher temperatures or something. You didn’t know; your extent of demonic knowledge relied purely on Biblical references and pop culture.

You chewed on your lip thoughtfully as you studied his shoulders.

“What?” he asked, tone borderline annoyed.

“If you still have your wings… how are you able to even fit in my car?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I can retract them.”

“I’m sorry, you can _what?”_

His lips curled into a half-smile, brief but definitely real. “Yeah. Kind of like locking them down against my back. It’s hard to explain. I can show you sometime, if you like.”

In that moment, you caught a glimpse of the man you’d met that first night. Gentle and open, rather than closed-off and brusque.

Your regret for the situation dug its claws into you. If this awful mark hadn’t appeared on your shoulder, if Bucky hadn’t needed to feed on you, you would be in a very different position right now. You could easily have imagined being friends with him, or at least, starting to travel that road. Knowing that magic and demons were real, that there was more to life than being miserable in a corporate job, you would have been a much happier person.

Or maybe that was you simply being naïve. Maybe_ this_ was the reality of being exposed to that kind of world. Maybe magic was more insidious than you realized, blinded by a child’s belief that magic was good and safe and beautiful.

Maybe Bucky was right. A demon was a demon, and he could never escape from what he was.

And now, neither could you.

A shiver moved down your spine and you pulled your thin jacket tighter over your shoulders.

“Or not,” he said, toneless and flat. “Don’t know why I said that. Especially after… earlier tonight. It was thoughtless of me.”

Bucky was getting dangerously close to talking about the elephant in the room, and like a coward, you backed away from the risky topic.

“No, no, really, I would like to see how you do it.” You kept your head forward, watching the heavy snowfall pass before the headlights. It seemed easier than looking at his face and seeing the closed-off expression you knew would be there. “Just lost in my own head, that’s all.”

The conversation died after that. You couldn’t help but feel it was your fault, but you didn’t know what to say so you remained quiet, making yourself as small as possible in your seat. It wasn’t difficult; Bucky commanded such a large presence that it was easy to get lost in it.

What should have been a ten minute drive turned into a half-hour crawl, Bucky navigating carefully through the snow-laden streets that hadn’t yet been touched by a snowplow. You closed your eyes without intending to, and soon you were leaning against the door, your cheek resting against your bent arm. The pain in your shoulder had vanished and your mark remained placid.

You didn’t realize the car engine was completely silent until Bucky called your name, so softly you nearly didn’t hear it. You winced at the crick in your neck and the pins and needles sensation of your hand having fallen asleep. It reminded you of what Bucky had said about his “guised” body parts, and you looked over at him automatically.

Because Bucky had turned off the car and pulled out the keys, your small overhead light lit up the interior, casting a depressing, yellow pall over everything. What it also did was highlight his face, startling close to you in the small space. The sharp, almost gaunt cheekbones, the even slope of his nose and the deep set of his brow, always giving him an intense, aggressive expression.

Even with his demonic features hidden, he painted a very intimidating picture. Apparently, your body didn’t get the memo, coming alive under his intense gaze. You swallowed thickly as you felt a tightening between your legs.

It wasn’t _fair._ You had already gotten it over with. There was absolutely no reason to be reacting this way, and yet your libido, already on a hair trigger, had decided to make its presence known.

“Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly, hoping he would take your embarrassment as a result of dozing off. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

The hard lines of his brown and his troubled frown smoothed out into a look of gentle sympathy. And boy if that didn’t go straight to your core, reminding you how you were still sticky from the leftover remnants of your earlier _activity._

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who…” Bucky trailed off, averting his gaze toward the windshield. You breathed marginally easier now that you weren’t pinned under his intense gaze.

“I haven’t found anything concrete yet about where that sigil came from,” he said abruptly. “I won’t stop trying, but… I’m sorry I haven’t found a solution yet. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

The slope of his shoulders spoke of defeat, but more than that, there was real self-loathing behind his words. It made you realize, perhaps for the first time, that this was negatively affecting someone other than you.

The shame trickled down your spine like an unpleasant flow of icy water, but you pushed past your discomfort to talk about the thing you had_ tried_ to avoid thinking about ever since Bucky had gotten into your car.

If he could make an effort at the unpleasant conversation, so could you.

“It’s okay. I understand it’s not your fault.” You looked down at your hands, sensing his gaze turned toward you again but unable to meet it. “It’s just… I don’t know what to do. Isn’t there someone we can go to for help? Others who know about demons and could tell us what the hell is happening?”

The silence drew on for so long that you were forced to look up. Bucky was staring out the windshield, or rather, at the snow now covering the glass in a soft blanket of faintly-glowing white.

“There are people with knowledge about these things, yes,” he finally relented.

The hope in your heart, blooming like the petals of a flower, curled and blackened at his next words.

“But they won’t be able to help us.”

_“What?_ Why not?”

The muscles of his jaw flexed as it tightened. “The reason doesn’t matter. Just understand that they aren’t a viable option.”

Your fists curled in your lap, the presumption of Bucky’s words ruffling your proverbial feathers. Yes, this was his world and he knew the nuances in ways you didn’t, but that didn’t mean he could brush you off.

“I’m not an idiot,” you stated sharply. “If you explain it to me, maybe I will understand, or maybe I won’t. You don’t even give me the chance to try. You treat me like I’m fragile, like I’m going to break even though I think I’ve been handling this situation pretty damn well so far! Do you think keeping me in the dark is going to help? That it’s going to protect me? _I’m_ _already involved.”_

He winced even though your voice, while angry, hadn’t risen in volume.

“I _know_ that,” he said, finally meeting your gaze with hard blue eyes. “I know this isn’t easy and I’m not trying to make this harder on you. I’m trying to ensure that this situation doesn’t get any worse than it already is.”

_Worse?_ How could it possible get worse than, oh, you needing to be fucked by an incubus every so often otherwise you would _bleed to death?_

Before he gave you a chance to ask, Bucky opened the door and got out of the car. Cold air blasted into the small space, robbing you of your pocket of warmth until he shut the door again. You quickly opened your door, movements stiff but hurried. Your fear was that he would take off and end the conversation—plus he now had your car and apartment keys—but you found him standing near the hood of your car, hands in his jean pockets as he leveled a glare at you.

You were beginning to be able to interpret his looks. This particular glare, complete with furrowed brows and pursed lips, meant he was feeling both impatient and nervous. At least, that’s what you thought it meant; it was very similar to the light scowl he’d worn when he’d first showed up at your doorstep, toolkit in hand.

Without a word, he turned and walked toward your building, shoulders braced against the cold wind. You quickly followed, deeply regretting your choice of attire as the breeze wiped your skirt around your ankles, throwing snowflakes against your bare calves.

By the time you made it into the building your teeth were chattering and your arms were wrapped tightly around your chest. The air was warmed by central heating, but it was nothing compared to the radiating heat coming from the man next to you. Without thinking, you angled yourself toward him and walked close enough to almost touch, your muscles loosening as the tension sloughed off you like the snow melting into your hair.

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance but said nothing. He didn’t tell you to go away, at least, and you took that as a good sign.

When you reached your door, you pulled out your purse before remembering Bucky had your keys. It was probably a blessing in disguise; your fingers were still trembling and hot as the blood flow returned to them. Bucky had no such problem fitting the key into the lock, and you wondered if it was from the gloves or if the cold just didn’t affect him.

Monster was there to greet you at the door, making his hunger known with a series of obnoxious meow-screams. As soon as he caught sight of Bucky, he gave an unimpressed flick of his tail and darted off to the kitchen, apparently deciding supper was of more concern than a visiting demon.

You gave a murmured apology and followed after your cat—er, hobgoblin?

Actually… while Bucky was here…

“You called Monster a hobgoblin,” you called from the kitchen. “Please tell me that’s the demon term for ‘cat.’”

“Nope.” Bucky’s response came from out of sight and towards the living room. “Hobgoblins are… Well. I’m not sure, exactly. They ward off demons, I know that much.”

You snorted. “Think mine’s broken, then.”

“On that, we can agree.”

You returned to the living room after having placated Monster with a fresh can of fowl-smelling gruel, and found Bucky staring at your bookshelf. At first you thought he was perusing your meager collection of books, but then you realized he was staring at your picture frames. They were filled with photos of you, your mom, and your sister.

You couldn’t see his face, and his tail was still disguised so you couldn’t gauge his mood from that, but his posture was peculiar. His arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders slightly slumped. Bucky’s face almost always had a hard look to it, so the inscrutable expression he wore did you no favors in puzzling him out.

He finally spoke, not taking his eyes away from your family photos. “Where did you find that beast?”

“He found me.” You cast a glance back toward the kitchen, a fond smile on your lips. “Just showed up one day and refused to leave. They don’t allow pets here, so I just kind of… hide him. Or, he hides himself. He’s weirdly good at it.”

Bucky nodded, as if there was nothing surprising about that. “They have a habit of getting into places they shouldn’t. It’s good you have it—him—living with you.”

The weirdly nice sentiment caught you off-guard, warming your cheeks.

“Me too. He’s family, you know?”

You winced as soon as you said it. You hadn’t stopped to consider if Bucky still had family. Going by his age, probably not. It was a depressing thought. What did he do for holidays? Or his birthday? Did he even have any friends or people to talk to?

Bucky didn’t say anything but his gaze was focused on your face. You began to fidget.

_Should I offer him something to drink? Or eat? Wait, do demons eat people food?_

“I should get going,” he said abruptly, as if he could sense the swirling thoughts inside your head. Keeping his head slightly angled downward, he turned and headed toward the door.

“Um. Wait.”

He paused mid-stride but looked like he still had half a mind to walk out the door anyway. You scrambled and stumbled over your words. “You said you were going to show me how you do the thing with your… wings?”

Bucky glanced at you over his shoulder with a raised brow as if to say _really?_ You didn’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited.

“Fine.” His tone was of the long-suffering, but excitement blossomed in your stomach all the same.

Still facing away from you, the air began to shimmer around his back and head, like a heat wave coming off the pavement. His demonic features came into focus, grey-brown in the warm light of your lamps, first his curved horns and then his flexible, smooth tail.

Except… his wings still seemed to be missing. In their place was a carapace-like shell on his back. Or, no, not like a carapace, more like a scaly shield?

“What is—“ you began to ask, and instead jumped when you heard a startling _crack_. The shield-like armor opened, unfolding like a pop-up picture book, and delicate webbing emerged from the rough shell. The hard edges of his wings, what you thought of as the “arms,” pulled open until they formed into the shape you were familiar with.

Bucky’s wings half-expanded, as far as they could reach in your small apartment, and his tail stood straight out. You realized, smile growing, that he was stretching them out as if getting them of a muscle cramp.

His wings suddenly folded tight against his spine, and with a loud _pop_ that sounded exactly like what it was, bones popping out of joints, he continued to fold them inward like the poles of a collapsing tent. The arms of his wings tucked neatly in the center of his back until you couldn’t see any webbing.

Once again, the wings were hidden away, folded compactly under the large, armored patch just between his shoulder blades.

“That is… _amazing_.”

You couldn’t help but gush in delight, taking a step forward so you could get a closer look at the thick scales, wishing you could reach out and touch it. You knew better than to try, but the urge was still there, itching on your fingertips.

“It’s like, like some kind of medieval shield made out of… dragon scale, or something. That is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. What does it feel like? How do you make sure you don’t accidently do that while flying? How strong are the scales—“

“Don’t do that.”

You stopped speaking.

“Don’t pretend that this is something _good.”_ Bucky turned toward you, his hands curled into fists at his side. His tail twitched behind him, as agitated as you’d ever seen it.

“Don’t act as if I’m not exactly what I am. A goddamn demon that’s feeding off you like some kind of _parasite.”_

You felt as if you’d been slapped. Your breath was frozen in your throat as something twisted inside your chest, sharp and hurting like the edge of a dull blade.

He immediately deflated, wings drooping and his tail coiling around his calf. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, a gesture made even more awkward by him having to avoid his horns.

“Look, I… I don’t think you understand the position that you’re in. That _I _put you in. For whatever reason, I _have_ to feed now, and you have to be fed on. Do you get what that means?”

He held his arms out for a brief moment before dropping them again.

“It means it’s a matter of survival. This isn’t some fantasy or fairytale out of a story book. If something happens, if one of us can’t get to the other, that’s it. We’re both dead. And trust me, it’s a fucking unpleasant experience.”

Bucky took a step forward but you couldn’t move, your feet glued to the ground as your arms rigid at your sides.

“Tell me you understand and that we won’t have a repeat performance of tonight. We’ve had two close calls already, and I’m not looking for a third.”

Your vision blurred and your eyes stung. Of course you understood, you hadn’t asked for this, for_ any_ of it. You didn’t want to be in this position any more than he did. You had plenty of shame in regards to your dilemma, heaps and mountains of it, but at least you tried to be understanding and not take it out on _him._

It was the last nail in the coffin of your humiliation.

“I get it, okay? I get it.” You bit your lip, trying to quell the shaking in your words. “I was just trying to…”

You shook your head, hoping he didn’t see the tears you blinked away. “You know what, it doesn’t matter what I was trying to do. You’re right. This situation sucks, it’s dangerous, and I’m being stupid and naïve about it.”

“No, that’s not—“ He huffed out a short breath. “I’m not saying you’re stupid. I know you’re not. I just… wanted to be sure we were on the same page. That’s all,” he finished weakly.

“Okay.” The ache in your chest was only getting worse, and you wrapped your arms around yourself protectively in an effort to make it hurt less. It didn’t work.

“We’re on the same page,” you said, hating the brittleness in your voice. “So, um. I’m going to… go to bed now. Still tired. Thanks for driving me home.”

His eyes widened in a way that twisted your gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him, instead walking past him and opening the door, making your meaning unmistakable.

You half-expected him to say something anyway, but instead Bucky moved past you into the hallway, a tight frown on his lips. He left a lingering glance before continuing on, heavy silence remaining in his wake.

You shut the door, harder then you meant to as you forgot to ease the unleveled jamb into the lock. The predictable banging on your wall did nothing for your frazzled nerves. You retreated to your bedroom, barely bothering to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto your bed with an undignified flop.

Only your bed was no sanctuary, not any longer, readily conjuring up memories of Bucky’s hands and lips and tongue on your skin.

This was your life now, there was no escaping it. It wouldn’t have been so bad, maybe even bearable, if Bucky didn’t despise you more with each time he saw you. That had never been more obvious than tonight and how could you blame him? He was stuck with you, just as surely as you were trapped with him.

Your stomach roiled as you curled your limbs into a protective position. Monster’s purrs as he sniffed at your arm were the last blow to your defenses. You pulled him close as the tears began to flow, grateful there was no one else to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to everyone who was hoping they could talk it out. They'll get there eventually, I promise!


	9. Anathema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes to the Sanctum’s library in hopes of uncovering the mystery surrounding your demon sigil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update - I'll probably be slowing down with the chapters since it's the holidays and I've been writing pretty much nonstop since July. Between Devil's Backbone and Branded, that's about 120k words written in 5 months (and we're not even counting all the outlines and wips I don't post).
> 
> Not going to lie, I'm exhausted. But I'm hoping I can recharge for the new year because I have *tons* of stories in the works. 2020 is Bucky's year, without a doubt.
> 
> Thank you again for everyone's comments and ideas and support. Y'all are the best and I love you.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Mild sexual content, Bucky has PTSD and self-loathing

Bucky had stayed a little longer, listening at her door to make sure she didn’t collapse from exhaustion.

It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d made someone fall unconscious after a feeding, but he’d been careful to drain her for the barest amount he could get away with. Even then, combined with the stress of the situation and the alcohol on her breath, he’d been worried about getting her home.

Just when he was about to turn away, satisfied she wasn’t going to pass out and crack her head open on the floor, he heard it. Small and muffled at first, he didn’t recognize what it was… until he did.

She was crying.

A pang twisted in his chest, the air stolen from his lungs. He had done this to her. She hadn’t meant any harm; hell, Bucky’s wings were the least detestable thing about his demonic anatomy, and under other circumstances, he would have loved them.

And yet, he’d snapped at her with a cruelty she hadn’t deserved.

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was a very large part of him that wanted to go inside—breaking yet another lock in the process—and pull her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was. After all, Bucky understood what she was going through, or at least, as close as anyone could get. His transition from human to demon had been the stuff of nightmares, forced on him without his understanding or consent, so he knew how scared she must be.

Bucky knew what it was like to have his own body betray him.

He opened his eyes, staring at the faded blue paint of her door with a heavy weight in his chest.

Bucky was the problem, not the solution, and nothing confirmed that fact for him more than the soft sounds of her cries following at his heels.

The flight back home was unpleasant, freezing wings buffeting him like a wayward kite and cold, wet flakes slapping him in the face and stinging his eyes. Bucky felt like it was a punishment, or at least a stern commentary on how he had handled himself that night.

His arrival did little to comfort him. The clock tower was filled with silence and cold, both due to the raging snowstorm outside. No matter how much Bucky tried, he couldn’t get the place warm in the winter. Now, with the shadows and pale light playing through the windows, it resembled a tomb more than it did a place for the living.

Bucky felt that was apropos, all things considered. He was a living ghost whose existence served as a reminder of the man he had once been. He had planned to continue on that way, interacting with the world as little as possible like the shade he pretended to be.

Easier said than done; Bucky wasn’t heartless and that was precisely the problem. He could see the effect it was having on her. He’d been in the same situation himself during the war, having to hide his initial changes from the Howlies and Steve. The changes weren’t even the worst part: it was the utter isolation.

Bucky could see the same suffering in her when she tried to reach out to him, communicate with him, and he repeatedly pushed her away.

It wasn’t working. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself, to detach and look at the situation from a clinical lens, Bucky _cared._ For the first time since Steve, he was allowed to grow attached to another person, and damn him, because that’s exactly what Bucky was doing.

It hadn’t helped Steve in the end, and it wouldn’t help her either. Even now, with Steve alive and reprising his role as Captain America, Bucky knew better than to insert himself back into his life. Steve had known HYDRA had done something to Bucky and had tried to help him through the changes and the hunger back during the war, but neither of them had had any idea Bucky was turning into an actual _demon._

If Steve knew what HYDRA had forced him to become, if he knew Bucky was preying on someone who had no way of defending herself, Bucky had no doubt he would be at the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar. Their highest priority target. Not even the sorcerers could protect him, not that they would at that point.

No, Bucky couldn’t be to her what Steve had been to him, not when he was the one responsible for her misery. But he would find a way to make it right. He wouldn’t let this consume her life the way it had consumed his.

While Bucky’s had been forfeited long ago, she still had a future, and he was going to make sure she got to see it.

Bucky sat on his bed and stared out of the nearby window at the winterscape outside. The tip of his tail slightly swayed back and forth as it usually did when he was deep in thought.

The world was melancholy and silent, and the clock tower had never felt so hollow and empty. Even knowing this was how it had to be, that it was the best thing for everyone… Bucky couldn’t have felt more alone if he’d tried.

* * *

Bucky rubbed at his irritated eyes, burning from the late, or rather, early hour. This hadn’t been the first time he had scoured the Sanctum’s library until dawn. He had made daily visits for weeks, but so far had turned up nothing that could be helpful.

He leaned back and watched the dust motes glowing in the dusky beginnings of a dawn through the nearby stain-glass window. The desk lamp next to his elbow was the only source of strong light in the library besides a flickering candle or two. The sorcerers didn’t seem concerned with leaving open flames near their precious books, and Bucky guessed they had enchanted them with some kind of fireproof spell.

_If only my own abilities were so reliable and didn’t backfire with such spectacular fucking damage. _

It hadn’t been a fluke. Bucky thought for sure it must have been a one-time fuck-up on his demon anatomy, but no, he had fed not once, not twice, but _three times_ from her.

At least he had _sort of _figured out the succubus-incubus issue. From what he could tell from the tomes he had managed to skim through, she had been right. Somehow, his feeding habits had switched from a succubus… to that of an incubus.

He couldn’t see that it made much of a difference in the overall picture, but Bucky had an understandably fraught history of his body changing and rebelling against him. In other words, any deviation from the norm made him nervous as fucking hell. The most helpful thing he had found on the subject so far was that sometimes this could happen if the demons preferred prey changed.

Bucky honestly couldn’t say it had. He’d been attracted to women, sure, long before he’d accepted he was attracted to men too. He had even taken a few women to bed during the war, after his rescue from HYDRA when he had_ technically_ been a newborn, budding demon.

He hadn’t fed on them though, because sex with women hadn’t satisfied his hunger or sated his growing heat. Only with men, or to put it bluntly, only with a cock inside of him had Bucky been able to feed during sex.

Hence, _succubus._ Now, not only was he an incubus, he seemed to be an exclusive one. Bucky didn’t feel inclined to feed off men, women, or anyone else. No one but _her._ This one incredibly unlucky person who shouldn’t have even known Bucky existed if he hadn’t screwed up so unbelievably _badly._

After feeding from her three times, Bucky couldn’t deny that she was the sole focus of his twisted dietary needs. Somehow, the demon part of him wanted her and no one else. It wasn’t a fluke, or a mistake, but a fucking disaster.

If this pattern held, his next heat would be in a week and a half, at most. After that, he would return to his weekly feeding cycle and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only folks who might have the answers were also the people he couldn’t go to for help.

At least, not directly. The sorcerers had a treasure trove of knowledge he could borrow from, hence why he was in the library at such an ungodly hour in the morning.

It hadn’t been the first time Bucky had used the library. The sorcerers of the past had given him limited access to some of the expansive libraries in order to help him adjust to life as a “free” demon. HYDRA hadn’t exactly left him with an instruction manual on how to deal with his own body and needs as an unbound demon.

Plus, in the ruined state they’d left him in, Bucky had needed all the help he could get. And the sorcerers had helped him when they absolutely hadn’t needed to.

It was another reason why Bucky’s guilt was surging. He felt like he was taking advantage of her goodwill only two years after their order had been attacked and the Ancient One and Master Drumm had both been killed. Hell, Bucky _was_ taking advantage, but he had good reason. His mysteriously returned heats were a secondary concern, and he’d only searched for information on succubus-incubus switching after it had been clear the library didn’t contain anything about demon sigils appearing on humans.

All he had to go on was the possible connection between his sudden and inexplicable heat, and the appearance of the sigil the next morning. It made Bucky’s stomach twist to think about how similar it had looked to his own. It might even be a mirror image if he had taken the time to actually examine her instead of…

He had to bite down on his lip and closed the tome in front of him, pushing it aside in disgust. He’d only seen her two days previous and had absolutely no reason to believe he needed to feed again so soon, and yet… Bucky’s thoughts strayed to her far too often for his liking. It wasn’t just that he thought about her in order to solve their colossal problem—he would start thinking about the sex as well.

It was as if an addict who had been sober for twenty years had gotten a taste, and not just fallen off the wagon, but had decided to drive it off a cliff into the ocean. Focusing on the guilt and self-loathing only did so much to distract his wayward thoughts and prodding desires.

Worse than that, Bucky was pretty sure she was being affected as well. Bucky couldn’t blame it on his pheromones this last time; he’d been nowhere near that party. He hadn’t even known where she was, not until he’d felt that pull again, that something was wrong and she needed him.

She had certainly _needed _him. Not in the way he’d expected, but Bucky certainly hadn’t complained at the time. It didn’t matter that he had to feed on her for both their sakes—he still felt like a piece of shit because he _enjoyed_ it. That wasn’t his fault either, what HYDRA had turned him into, he just wished it didn’t feel so damn good when he was in the throes of it.

Then there was the fact Bucky didn’t know how far his blame extended; it was a whole chicken-and-the-egg scenario. Did she respond to Bucky’s increasing heats, or was Bucky’s body reacting to whatever the hell was going on with that sigil?

It had all started the moment Bucky had tried to manipulate her using demonic energy. Had that been the catalyst? It didn’t make a_ lick_ of sense, but Bucky had no other explanation.

He tapped the hardwood reading desk with a dark claw. There was one book that might have the answers. One book that HYDRA had consulted for all their demonic purposes, but Bucky hadn’t seen it since 1991.

He didn’t have any idea where the red book was now. With the Russians? Buried in a forgotten Soviet bunker? HYDRA was gone, but did they destroy the book before the end, or would they have hidden it away?

When he’d asked the Ancient One, she hadn’t been too concerned about it and had instructed him to “keep his thoughts forward-facing.” She used to say a lot of strange stuff like that, but Bucky had respected her and he could have really used her wisdom now.

Or if not her wisdom, one of her many tomes on demonology. There was one in particular she had called it the _Sumerian Book of the Dead_. Bucky had heard some of the other sorcerers refer to it in hushed tones as the _Necronomicon_.

Bucky didn’t care of it was Lucifer’s personal pocketbook; he would have bet his last dollar that it contained what he was looking for. Bucky hadn’t seen it in years either, but one thing was for sure: the _Necronomicon_ was much closer and therefore much more useful to him than the red book.

His tail twitched behind him as he contemplated his options. Who would be more likely to grant him permission to read the book? Wong… or Strange?

Bucky stood from the desk and stretched out his cramped muscles, his wings curling and flexing over his back as his tail arched up like a cat’s. He used to keep his guise activated whenever he could, and sometimes he still had to when he visited the Sanctum during the day. Aside from a few sorcerers, Bucky was something of a well-kept secret within the mystic order. No one outside of this small circle knew who he was, let alone what HYDRA had turned him into.

Bucky preferred to keep it that way, but in moments like this when he needed to focus his full attention and not be distracted by maintaining the illusion, he didn’t mind as much when he left his demonic features on display. He used to despise looking this way, and a part of him always would, but it was his _nature _that was causing all the problems right now, not his appearance.

So when Bucky tilted his head, listened for the sound of footsteps and heard none, he set off into the interior of the Sanctum. He didn’t know where the _Necronomicon_ was located, but there were certain parts of the building that contained glyphs over thresholds or above arches that he couldn’t cross. Bucky figured that was a good start.

The vaulted hallways were lit with golden lamps that made everything with a reflection glitter in the dance of the flames. It was so silent that Bucky could hear the soft padding of his feet on the thick, ornate carpet runners.

Bucky wouldn’t be able to sense the hidden glyphs until he got close; he knew that from experience. Passing close to one of the glyphs made his body react quite quickly: the tightening of his skin, the tension on the back of his neck, and the sensation that every hair on his body was standing up, not unlike standing under (or flying over) a massive transmission tower.

He felt something similar to that coming from a corner up ahead, and he set his shoulders and stalked toward it—nearly running into Wong as he stepped out of a doorway in front of him.

Bucky startled and took a step back, his tail swishing nervously. Wong didn’t so much as blink at his sudden appearance, though his eyes did narrow in mild suspicion.

“I believe I remember Strange giving you the perusal of the library only,” he mildly stated.

Bucky wet his lips and tried not to let his nerves show. He used to be a phenomenal poker player, and still would be if it wasn’t for his damn tail. The twitchy thing telegraphed his emotions unless he forced it to remain still, something he was currently doing so Wong didn’t catch on.

The guy seemed to come out of nowhere, and had probably been waiting for Bucky to do something like this after weeks of unyielding results in the library.

“He did,” Bucky relented, “but I couldn’t find what I was looking for.”

“And where did you expect to find your answers, if not the library?” Wong’s tone was perfectly even, almost serene, but Bucky knew a loaded question when he heard one.

“Honestly? Not sure.” Bucky lied smoothly, even as the guilt wormed its way inside of him. “I figured I would see if you could help me, actually.”

Wong’s eyebrows rose. “Is that so? What is it you think I could help with that the Sanctum archives could not?”

Good question, and this was the tricky part. Bucky knew the _Necronomicon _had been a long shot, and with Wong catching him out in the wind, all he could do was hope he threw him a rope.

_Start small._

“I was wondering what you knew about hobgoblins,” Bucky said, slowly and carefully.

“Hobgoblins?”

Even as Wong asked, Bucky felt stupid for voicing the question, but he pressed on. “I came across one when hunting down an_ Alp_ recently.”

Wong frowned. “_Alpen _are rare but mostly harmless. Why did you seek this one out?”

“It came through the portal with me,” Bucky answered honestly. Wong’s face smoothed with understanding.

“Ah. It has been some time since you last tracked down one of those, isn’t it?”

Two years ago, in fact. Bucky had found less and less of the demons that had come with him from the demon realm. Only a handful remained, most of them hunted down by Bucky, the sorcerers, or both within the first few years of the portal opening.

It had been easier in the early years, but also more distressing because the loose demons had circled around her like sharks. Bucky didn’t know if they somehow knew she had been the one to summon them, or if they simply liked to torment children, because the older she got the more they lost interest, scattering to the wind. Bucky didn’t know why the _Alp_ had returned, and he wasn’t sure if that meant more would be coming.

As if he didn’t have_ enough _on his plate.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “That’s where I came across the hobgoblin. I was just wondering if… there was any particular significance to them.” Bucky knew he was on pretty thin ice—it wouldn’t have been difficult to find information for the hobgoblin if he’d wanted to, but there was always the chance Wong knew something he didn’t.

Wong pressed his lips together in thought.

“They tend to gravitate toward locations of dark energy,” he finally said.

_Oh._ Bucky had not been expecting _that._

“Are they dangerous, then?” Shit. Bucky really didn’t want to be the one to tell her she had to get rid of her beast.

“Not necessarily,” Wong said. “If you look at the magic in the universe as a carefully balanced ecosystem, then the hobgoblins are the… hmm, fungus? I am not sure what their equivalent would be in living systems. They are drawn to sites of imbalance, such as areas saturated in dark energy, and they encourage it to heal.”

_Okay. She can keep the damn thing._

“Huh.” Bucky didn’t have much more to say to that, but it made sense considering her history of demonic attention. “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

Wong’s face creased into focused watchfulness again. “Was there anything else?” _Surely you didn’t spend weeks being stumped by that,_ was what his expression actually said.

Bucky chewed his lip in deliberation. Could he ask without drawing Wong’s suspicions? The sorcerer might connect the dots. He knew about the girl in a roundabout way, that she was responsible for Bucky returning to the mortal realm, but neither Wong nor Strange knew Bucky was still keeping track of her. It should be safe.

_Famous last words._

Bucky took a deep breath.

“Do you know anything about humans having… demon sigils?”

Wong stiffened. It might have been imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him, but Bucky could sense the shift in his posture and mood immediately.

“Where did you hear such a thing?” Wong’s voice held an edge to it that wasn’t there before, his eyes intensely focused on Bucky’s face. He feigned a casual shrug, alarmed by Wong’s reaction but forcing his tail perfectly still so it wouldn’t betray his distress.

“Came across it in one of the books but there wasn’t much detail on it. I was hoping…” He would have to act the hell out of this part with the same gusto he had given his ma when he’d pretended to be sick with the flu in sixth grade. Bucky frowned and looked toward the wall, an admission of guilt that would hide his deceit if he did this right.

“…I thought that maybe it meant I could be human again.”

Bucky certainly had wanted that, a long time ago. He had learned how to extinguish that pointless hope, but it still felt wrong to use it now as his excuse.

Wong’s change in tone, from harsh to grim, told Bucky that his lies had passed the sorcerer’s scrutiny.

“No,” Wong said. “There is no way to turn back once the ritual is complete. I’m sorry, Barnes.”

His sympathy made Bucky feel even more like shit. He nodded, finally meeting Wong’s eye. “I figured, but… thought I would ask anyway.”

Wong took in a slow breath and remained silent. Bucky wondered if he should prod him to explain further or if he had chanced too much already.

“There are a few instances of humans possessing the demon sigil,” the sorcerer finally spoke. “If you should come across such an individual, you would do well to turn and walk the other way. Or better yet, inform us so we can handle the situation quickly.”

The hair on his nape went stiff and his tail went rigid.

“What?” he asked faintly. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Wong’s face was grave, “that you’ve come across a person who, for all intents and purposes, is no longer beholden to themselves. They belong to a demon.”

There was static in Bucky’s ears, filling his head with noise as his body remained perfectly still.

Wong continued to speak, ignorant of the huge shock he’s just delivered. “It is not unlike the ownership that bound demons experience, except in this case, the demon is the master and the human is the slave.”

Bucky said not a thing, didn’t react at all. How could he, with his world slowly but inevitably crumbling around him?

“And I tell you that you should not become involved because the person in question, by being in the presence of another demon, will activate their master’s territorial instincts. After all,” Wong said, “this human is not only their property, but also their exclusive food source. These demon masters can still feed from others, of course, but they prefer to feed from their slaves. Something about the energy being more potent.”

Wong’s mouth tightened into a deeper frown, his expression almost contemplative. Bucky, on the other hand, was beginning to actually feel sick.

“It is little wonder you found no information in the library. The knowledge of demon pacts is a well-kept secret. Or rather, a poorly kept one if you look to fiction for inspiration,” Wong added with a tilt of his head. “The true nature of demon pacts is poorly understood outside of rare occultist texts. Have you located such a person during any of your hunts?”

“No.” Bucky responded automatically, his body on autopilot while his mind reeled like a skiff in a storm. “I didn’t… didn’t know it was even possible.”

Of course he didn’t know. If Bucky had known, he would have never gone into her apartment, _Alp _be damned. Fucking thing had been more trouble than it was worth, and Bucky wished, in a sudden vindictive urge, that he could summon it himself just so he could kill it again.

“Some mystic scholars state the human only becomes a slave if they enter into an agreement with the demon and then break their side of the pact,” Wong continued on. “Others say the human offers themselves to the demon in exchange for a wish or gift. The stories vary depending on the culture and era, but all of them have a single point on which they all agree. The human will bear a mark, one that’s specific to their master, somewhere on their body. A mark of ownership.”

As if Wong hadn’t dropped enough of a bombshell, he added another, as if in an afterthought.

“Oh, yes, one last point I nearly forgot. Bound demons cannot enter into human pacts. They cannot own human slaves, because they themselves are a slave. These pacts can only be done by free, unbound demons.”

Just like Bucky.

His tongue was thick in his dry mouth, his chest tight and not allowing him to take a full breath of air.

Wong’s brows slanted. “Barnes? Is something wrong?”

Bucky immediately shook his head, even as the majority of his mind was distant and far away.

“No, nothing wrong, it’s just… a lot to take in. HYDRA never mentioned anything about it.”

The sorcerer nodded, as if in understanding. “A demon master, especially one with multiple slaves, can be extremely powerful. That is not something, I imagine, they wanted you to be aware of.”

Desperate hope suddenly bloomed in Bucky’s chest, and he clung to it with the ferocity of a climber hanging on by his fingertips.

“It’s gotta be difficult and complicated to form a pact with someone, right? I mean, it’s not as simple as a handshake or something that happens on accident. There’s probably blood and herbs and weird chants involved. I’m not looking to make a pact,” Bucky hastily said, “I just wanna make sure I never…”

Bucky stopped speaking because Wong was looking at him as if he was being particularly stupid.

“No,” Wong said. “You cannot _accidently _form a pact with a human. Demon pacts take a consensual agreement on both sides. There is no blood needed, that is simply lore that has been twisted over the millennia for how the pact is formed.”

The hope in Bucky’s chest flickered and died out, the chasm opening wide below him.

His voice was flat as he said, “If there’s no blood involved, then how does it work?”

Wong gave a shrug far too cavalier for the situation.

“Blood has been historically used as a cheap substitute for _animus._ You understand Latin, so you know _animus_ can mean many things. The soul, the mind, the heart. It is a person’s specific essence. Blood was often used to symbolize a literal product of the heart, but it could truly be anything.”

The spines along his back stiffened further with each word. Bucky wanted to tell him to stop speaking, not to say another word before it was too late.

His wish for mercy was not granted.

“To finalize the pact,” Wong said, “the human gives to the demon something that is precious and treasured to them. It is a symbolic gesture of the human giving the demon their heart.”

Suddenly, Bucky was transported back in time to a little girl’s bedroom with beige walls, posters of dinosaurs, and a fluffy, peach-colored bed in the corner. The owner of the bedroom, so small but unafraid, was holding something out to Bucky as he cowered under her bed, terrified and fresh from the demon realm.

Bucky focused on the object as his past-self took it with a trembling claw: a battered but clearly-loved stuffed animal of a tabby cat.

_The toy! The fucking** toy!**_

That was it. Bucky felt the bottom drop out underneath his feet. It was like waiting for the gallows for years and then finally seeing the noose within sight.

Bucky hadn’t fucked up two months ago. He had fucked up _twenty years_ _ago._

“Does that answer your question?”

Bucky snapped back to the present, almost physically reeling to the point he had to extend his tail out to steady himself.

_Oh, God. God, no, please let me be wrong about this._

Wong was still waiting for an answer, so Bucky swallowed heavily and said, “Yeah. Thanks.”

Wong nodded but his words were even dourer if possible. “Remember what I said: if you come across such a person, alert myself or Strange as soon as possible. A human within the throes of a pact is completely at the demon’s mercy, and such arrangements often leave destruction in their wake.”

Honest to Christ, Bucky wanted to cry.

“Right. I'll remember,” he said, numbness seeping into him as he turned to leave. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to bid the sorcerer goodbye. Bucky found the nearest stairwell that would give him rooftop access, his body carrying him along as each step felt unreal yet heavy beyond normal gravity.

_I did this to her. No one else. Not HYDRA, not another demon._

_Me._


	10. Incursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to Davin than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays and Merry Christmas! Enjoy this two-chapter update since this one is super intense and I didn't want to leave you with a huge cliffhanger. I probably won't be updating again until the New Year so I'm hoping these two chapters back-to-back will tide you over in the meantime ;)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Violence, body horror, trauma

You sped out of the office building at a brisk walk, a weight lifting from your heart as soon as you crossed the threshold. Even as the cold wind buffeted you, kicking up smears of snow around your ankles, it couldn’t sour your elated mood.

Two weeks. You had_ two weeks _off for the holidays. Everyone got a day off for Christmas, but you had saved up the rest of your PTO to extend that mini-vacation into a proper one that would last until the New Year.

You had absolutely no plans for the next few days except to go home, sleep in, and do whatever the hell you wanted without having to suffer the sympathetic looks of your coworkers. Apparently, scuttlebutt around the office proclaimed you an alcoholic, the evidence your outburst at Stacey’s party.

_Whatever._ They could think what they wanted, and it was a far cry better than the truth. You were dependent and physically addicted to _something_, and if they wanted to believe it was booze, then that was fine by you.

You pulled your key fob out of your purse with one hand, the other holding up the collar of your green peacoat to shield your face from the bracing wind. Quickly getting into your car, you inserted the key and turned it.

Nothing happened.

You tried again. The engine didn’t make a sound and the overhead light sputtered and died, plunging you into darkness.

“No, no, _no, no,_ come _on!”_ You banged your palm against the steering wheel, pain flaring in your hand. “Son of a _bitch!”_

The car remained ambivalent to your curses, as cold and dead as your hopes of getting home quickly. Pulling out your key, you threw it into your purse and got out, immediately buffeted by the biting wind. You couldn’t think and you could barely hold your keys, let alone your phone, to call an Uber.

Mood officially soured, you ran back inside the office building, your nose and the tips of your ears already numb before the door shut behind you.

_“Fuck,”_ you muttered under your breath, shivering as you pulled out your phone. Of course this would happen to you just as you were about to be free of this place.

Your nearest relative was a couple hours away, you didn’t live close to the subway lines, and… well… you hadn’t made close enough friends with anyone to call for a ride.

Except…

You had opened the home screen and your finger was hovering over “Contacts” instead of the Uber app. You tapped it and opened the list, somehow not surprised to see _James _the first entry you saw.

You only briefly entertained the idea before immediately dashing it. You couldn’t call him, not for this. It has nothing to do with_ that_ side of your life. Surely that’s what he had meant when you could call him anytime—only for reasons that involved the damn mark.

Biting your lip, you closed the contact list and opened up the Uber app. You heard footsteps approaching from behind and ignored them, figuring it was one of your coworkers heading home.

“Hey. Everything all right? Thought you’d be gone by now.”

_Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me—_

“Yeah.” You forced your face into a tense smile as you turned to face Davin. “Well, no. I mean… my battery died. Like, completely dead. I don’t think I could even jump it.” You held out your phone. “Gonna call an Uber and have it towed in the morning.”

His frown was sympathetic, which of course, immediately set you on edge. “Why don’t I give you a ride home? It’ll be quicker and you can save a few bucks.”

“I… I shouldn’t.” You fidgeted with the phone in your hands. “I don’t want to make you go out of your way—“

“I don’t mind.” Davin glanced around, and when he saw no one was around, he winced and dropped his voice. “It’s the least I can do for being such an ass at the party.”

You chewed your lip and squeezed your phone tighter as if it were a lifeline, but it remained silent in your hands.

“Okay,” you relented. You didn’t see the harm, and you really didn’t want to wait around for a stranger to drive you through the snow. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he said with a shrug, followed up by his usual dazzling smile. “Like I said, least I can do.”

The stone sinking further in your stomach, you returned his friendly expression with a weaker version and followed him out the door into the blistery weather.

Davin’s car was small but nice, and the heater came on a lot faster than yours ever had. He drove in silence, the radio turned down to such a soft volume that you could tell music was playing but you couldn’t begin to guess at the song. The sight of your building loosened the stone that still occupied your stomach, and it was only when he parked the car did your shoulders start to loosen.

“I’m sorry again, really,” he apologized, green eyes round with sincerity. “I realize I’ve been kind of… coming on strong lately, and I thought it would be best if I cleared the air.”

_Oh, no._

You put on a brave smile you didn’t feel, rushing to interrupt him before he said anything else. “It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Thanks for the—“

“I just wanted you to know that I really like you. You know?” He released a breath and ran his fingers through his blond hair. You wanted to grab the handle and yank it open, but you were frozen like a deer before an oncoming freight train.

“Ever since the Halloween party, I feel like… I donno. Like I wanted to get to know you better.”

_Stop talking, please stop talking._

“Oh?” You leaned toward the door, looking forlornly up at your building, wishing you were far away from this conversation.

“Yeah.” He continued on, oblivious to the clear signals you were sending. “I feel like we have this connection.”

You chanced a look over at him—the way he said it was… odd, and his expression was even stranger. He was leaning toward you across the console, practically in your personal space as he gripped a hand on the back of your car seat.

Your heart leapt into your throat as his eyes remained riveted to yours. Davin often made eye contact, confidence was something he was never in short supply of, but this was intense in a way that made the hairs on your nape stand up.

“Sure. I, uh, I really need to go.” You put your hand on the handle. “Thank you for the ride.”

The piercing look held for a moment before he blinked rapidly and moved back across his side of the console. “Yeah, of course. Take care, Y/N. Enjoy that vacation of yours.”

The warmth of his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and you couldn’t get out of that damned car fast enough. The brutal chill outside was a welcome relief to the stifling air that had nothing to do with the efficient heating.

You wrapped your coat tighter against yourself and fled toward the building. Expecting to hear footsteps crunching in the snow behind you, you were met with stony silence, and when you entered the lobby you saw the glare of his headlights move past you, disappearing down the street.

You took your first real breath of air and headed upstairs, the tension melting off your shoulders with each step. Monster greeted you at the door as he always did, and after feeding him and toeing off your shoes, you collapsed onto the couch like a sack of exhausted potatoes.

As you replayed the conversation in your head, you wondered at Davin’s strange behavior. You didn’t know where your paranoia had stemmed from but you felt sheepish in the aftermath. He’d been weird, definitely intense, but did it even _mean_ anything? What had he meant when he said he felt a _connection?_ Was that his idea of flirting badly or what?

You closed your eyes and tried to relax the tautness of your muscles, but your mind kept circling back to Davin’s intense expression. _What if… Bucky said he gave off pheromones, right? What if they stuck to me somehow and it’s affecting the people around me? Oh, God, what if I’m unintentionally seducing Davin?!_

It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? It was completely—

Your door thudded with the sound of a fist banging on it twice, and you sat up like a shot. What if he found out your apartment number and followed you up? What if—

_“I know you’re in there!”_ barked an irritated voice._ “Saw you walk past!”_

Mr. Morris. You almost wished it _was_ Davin now.

Bracing yourself for a telling off, you opened the door wearing your most disarming I’ve-done-nothing-wrong-ever smile.

“Mr. Morris. What can I—“

“That damn cat!” He cut you off with a jerk of his hand, his face beet-red with irritation. “I know you got one in there! I heard it yowling and scratching at the walls not five minutes ago!”

“Sorry, but I don’t have a cat, Mr. Morris,” you said with your best customer service voice. Honed from years of retail, you knew how to placate angry, belligerent assholes. “It must have been someone else.”

The narrowing of his eyes told you exactly how much he believed your bald-faced lie.

“My eyes might be going but my hearing is just fine. And I know what a goddamn _cat _sounds like.”

A fact he loved to remind you of everyday with his wall-banging, that was for sure.

“I heard your animal, I know I did! Thought it was going to rip a hole in the wall.” His face screwed into an unpleasant scowl. “I told you to keep down the noise but I’m not afraid to get the landlord involved.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, a desperate edge slipping into your voice. “I don’t have a cat. The leasing office has been through my apartment before.” After you hid the cat food and bowls, of course.

You looked him straight in the eye. “But you’re more than welcome to go through them again.”

He squinted at you with all the petulant rage of someone who’s used to getting what they want but knows that won’t be the case this time.

“Maybe I will,” he said testily. “And I’m going to find proof of that damn cat.”

With a dramatic turn of his heels, Mr. Morris stomped back to his apartment, making more noise than Monster could ever possibly make.

“Okay,” you huffed under your breath as you closed your door. You felt like you’d just gone through a reenactment of the Wizard of Oz and had just been threatened by a wicked witch.

Not planning on having any more interruptions that evening, you began to make yourself some supper—only to have your door knock again before the pot of water had even started boiling.

You huffed out a quiet growl as you aimed for the door.

_I’ll show Mr. Morris some goddamn noise._

You pulled open the door, teeth already gritted for the impending argument—and a hand gripped your throat, shoving you back into the apartment.

You didn’t have time to move, time to speak. The strength forcing you back through the entry way too much to fight against. The scream never made it past your teeth as your back hit the wall with a hard thud.

Davin’s green eyes bored into yours, tongue between his teeth as his lips formed into a malefic smile.

“Well. That was easy.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, the force of it enough to rattle the painted wood against the wall.

_Mr. Morris, oh God, please let him hear, please make him come back—_

“Aren’t you happy to _see me_, your good friend Davin_?”_ He jerked you forward and pulled you into the living room.

You dragged your feet against the carpet, your cries reduced to pathetic whimpers trapped in your throat.

Davin threw you forward and you put out your hands to break your fall, but not fast enough. The edge of your coffee table caught the side of your forehead, stars bursting before your eyes as you hit the carpet.

The world spinning around you, you tried to crawl away, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. It was sluggish and slow, and when Davin grabbed you by the shoulder and rolled you onto your back, you were helpless to resist.

Davin grabbed you by the chin and turned your head, clicking his tongue against his teeth in a disapproving noise. Something warm was trickling down the side of your head into your hair.

“Why are you all so fragile?” he mused with a twist to his lips. “It’s a wonder you haven’t gone extinct yet.”

You opened your mouth, terror bubbling up underneath the pain, and he dug his fingers into your jaw.

“Shhh. It’ll be over soon. It only hurts for a little bit, and then we’ll be as one. Don’t you want that? Isn’t it so_ exhausting_ being all alone?”

His grip tightened, forcing your mouth open. You tried to jerk your head away, but the strength in his fingers was terrifying. When you kicked at him, he threw a leg over you and straddled your hips, forcing both of your arms underneath his knees.

“Come on, open up,” he growled when you refused to cooperate. “It’s only going to hurt_ more_ if you don’t stop that.”

You shook your head hard and meant to thrash against him, but all you did was give a weak tremble. Your head was throbbing, a ringing noise in your ears as the dim lights of the living room flared too bright.

Davin huffed in annoyance and pulled down on your chin, forcing his fingers between your teeth, holding your mouth open so you couldn’t even bite. He leaned down, hovering over your face, and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you.

In hindsight, that would have been preferable.

Opening his own mouth wide, you were forced to watch as something thick and yellow came from out of his throat and past his lips. It was slimy and hard, segmented like the body of a caterpillar, and covered with dozens of barbed wire-like hooks that seemed to flex in and out of its flesh at will.

_“Nnph!”_ You struggled harder, terror cutting through the fuzzy fog in your head, but Davin was so much_ stronger_ than you. The thing moved past your open lips and over your tongue, unpleasantly warm and tasting like raw, slightly rancid meat.

Your choked cry was silenced as the appendage moved down your throat, cutting off your supply of air. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out, your vision growing blurry with unshed tears.

It was exactly when your gag reflex kicked in, your throat tightening involuntarily, that everything devolved into chaos.

There was an alarming sizzling noise and Davin gave a muffled scream, your own cry following when the appendage jerked out of your throat, tearing into you on its way out. You coughed and gagged, rolling onto your side as your throat burned.

It wasn’t the only thing burning—your right shoulder felt like it was being consumed by fire. You wrapped your hand over it, pressing down in a desperate bid to make it stop burning as if it would consume your flesh.

Davin was no longer pinning you down, lying on the carpet as he made a gagging noise and held his neck, but his eyes were blazing as he glared up at you. The venomous green stare fell down to your hand cupping your shoulder.

Before you could react, he was on you, grabbing your hand and yanking it off. You tried to shove him off, but your movements were weak and your head was spinning. Your throat felt thick and you nearly gagged.

With a vicious pull, Davin yanked up the sleeve of your shirt. Underneath, the sigil was glowing red like the embers of a dying fire.

The twisted expression on your coworker’s face was barely human as he spit out a guttural word you couldn’t even begin to interpret.

The sound of banging on your door, followed up by, _“What did I say about the goddamn noise!”_ set your heart racing at a new alarming rate.

Davin glared murder at you. You shook your head, tried to speak, to tell him _not to hurt him, he was just a harmless old man,_ but you choked on the words as your throat constricted painfully. You coughed into your wrist and could taste the copper before you saw the red drops on your hand.

Davin pointed a finger toward your face. “Don’t fucking move. Make a sound and I’ll break his neck. Got it?”

You nodded, trying not to sob as your face twisted painfully.

Apparently satisfied, he got up and went to your door, yanking it open as he glared out at your neighbor in the hallway.

With Davin preoccupied, you groped around your pockets until your fingers stumbled upon the flat rectangle against your hip. You pulled out your phone, tried to unlock it with a shaky finger, but it wouldn’t accept it and asked for your password instead.

You nearly cried.

“Where is she?” Mr. Morris snapped. “I told her to stop making—“

“She’s busy, go the fuck away,” Davin interrupted, slamming the door in Mr. Morris’ face.

You jammed your fingers over the numbers, somehow managing to type your password on the first try. You opened the contact list, phone shaking so violently you nearly dropped it, but you held on.

Just as you tapped the_ J_ part of your contacts, the phone was ripped from your hands. Davin’s lips were pulled into a vicious scowl as he held your phone between his hands, and he_ snapped_ it in half.

A wet sob escaped from your burning throat, but there was no pity in Davin’s poisonous green eyes.

“Who you planning on calling, huh? Your _master?”_ he growled, words laden in distain. “I sure as hell know you aren’t calling anyone else. Such an isolated little thing. So sad and alone. Is that why you made a bargain with one of us?”

Desperate, you rolled onto your stomach and tried to crawl away between the couch and the coffee table. Something hard slammed against your rib and you sobbed as you curled into a ball, seeking to protect yourself from the next kick.

“All that fucking work!” His false sympathy vanished in an instant as he snarled above you like a beast. “All of it, _gone!_ Do you know how long it took me to even get this close! _Years!_ And then I get here only to find you made a demon pact! That you’re some demon’s _whore?!”_

You could hear him right behind you as you tried to scramble away, but he grabbed your ankle and yanked you back.

_No no no no no!_ You kicked out, digging your fingernails into the carpet, but Davin wrapped an arm around your neck, squeezing tight as he growled into your ear.

“No doubt your master is coming as we speak. They sense when their slaves are in danger.” He spoke right next to your ear, his breath ghosting across your face. You tried to wrench free, disgust and fear clearing the pain in your head, but he held on tight.

“I’m going to leave you in fucking pieces for them to find. I _sincerely_ hope they feel the exact moment I rip out your heart. In fact, I’m sure they will.”

He squeezed brutally, completely cutting off your air, and you balked in sheer animal terror. Your fingers dug into his arm for purchase, trying to pry yourself free, but he didn’t even flinch as your nails dug into his skin.

_I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to—_

A high-pitch yowling tore through the air. Davin screamed, throwing you forward, and you barely caught yourself on the couch in time. You whirled around to see Monster digging his claws and teeth into Davin’s shoulder, ripping through his jacket to the skin underneath.

With a guttural growl, Davin grabbed your cat by the back of his neck and flung him off, hard enough that when he impacted the wall he left a crack behind.

Like the flip of a switch, your bone-deep terror ignited into an inferno. You grabbed the thing nearest to you where you knelt next to the couch, stumbled to your feet, and crashed the table lamp into the back of Davin’s head.

He didn’t even flinch. He slowly turned toward you, pupils pulled into pinpricks so all you could see was an expanse of bright green.

The ember of rage died out. You stumbled backward, footsteps carrying you until your back was flat against the wall.

Davin sauntered toward you, slow and languid like a predator. His mouth opened, and not one but_ three_ of those insect-like segments pushed up from his throat.

Your stomach seized and you frantically glanced around for something, _anything_ you could use to defend yourself, but before you could move the appendages shot forward, directly toward your face.

You flinched hard and shut your eyes tight, bracing for the attack.

It never came.

You opened your eyes, turning your head slowly forward, and found the barbed ends of the appendages inches from your face.

And past them, Davin struggling, choking as a thick, armored arm curled around his neck.

You’d thought you’d seen Bucky angry before, but it was nothing in comparison to the cold fury etched into his hard eyes or the bunching muscles of his jaw. Even his nose was bunched into a silent snarl, and for just a moment, for the first time since you’d known Bucky, you actually felt like you were staring at a _demon._

Helpless to move or do anything but simply breathe, you watched as the segments curled backward toward Bucky. Without loosening his chokehold, Bucky gripped one of the flailing appendages that strayed too close and gave it a vicious yank.

With a sound like a lobster’s shell being cracked, the insectoid limb broke off and black ichor spewed from the wound, spraying ribbons of black into the carpet. A putrid stench immediately filled the room; your stomach roiled and you thought you were going to be sick, but finally, _finally,_ Davin’s struggles began to weaken until they finally stopped altogether.

Bucky remained where he was for a few more seconds before releasing his arm, dropping Davin onto the floor in a limp heap. He looked around, spotted Monster standing nearby with his fur puffed up, and pointed to the man on the floor.

“Watch him.”

As if he’d been trained for it, Monster immediately leapt onto Davin’s back, sitting back on his haunches and giving a warning growl as he eyed his unconscious charge.

It felt like you were watching everything from very far away; you weren’t cognizant of the fact your knees were buckling until you’d started to slide down the wall. You never reached the ground because Bucky was on you in an instant, gripping you gently under the knees and arms as he half-guided, half-carried you to the couch.

Even through the growing, alarming numbness, you couldn’t take your eyes off Davin. The insectoid limbs had been retracted as soon as he’d gone limp, and he looked as he did every day at the office, aside from black smears on his lips.

“Is he dead?” The words cracked painfully in your raw throat.

“No.” Bucky’s voice was stern but his fingers gentle as they touched your face. The textures of his hands were different, one rough with callouses while the other felt strangely like the pads on a cat’s feet. It felt almost… nice.

“Just unconscious. I need you to look at me.”

You heard the words but they floated past you, unperturbed like the still water of a pond.

“He’s a demon.” Your voice didn’t just crack now; it broke on every other word, strained to the point where the words were nothing but a puff of air. “Davin’s a demon.”

“Not exactly,” Bucky said with a glance over his shoulder. “Just possessed by one.”

_Possessed? Davin was… possessed?_

Your vision swam as your head pounded from its earlier knock. It wasn’t real, none of this was real, you had to be dreaming. It had to be a nightmare.

Bucky’s voice drifted to you through the haze. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need you to focus. Okay, sweetheart? Look at me.”

You managed to drag your gaze away from Davin’s hunched form and honed in on the blue eyes staring up at you. At some point, Bucky had knelt between your knees, and his hands were still holding your head, almost tenderly.

You forced yourself to hold on, to focus on his face, and found it wasn’t so difficulty, after all. Looking into Bucky’s eyes was… was something you enjoyed. Was that wrong? Davin had said… he had said…

The hard lines of his brow softened and you felt the pad of his right hand graze your cheek.

“That’s it. Just focus on me.”

He gently tiled your head to one side, not far enough for you to break eye contact but for him to get a better look at the warm, sticky mess of your temple.

“It’s not deep,” he observed. “I’m more worried about a concussion. Stay right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky got to his feet and dug into his jean pockets, pulling out a phone. You stared at him dumbly as he opened the flip phone, pressed his thumb across the keyboard twice, and put the phone to his ear.

“It’s me,” he said so quickly you wondered how the line could have possibly connected already. “Put Strange on. Now.”

His face grew tight with whatever was said on the other side.

“A parasitic demon, how’s that for urgent? Yes, I’ll hold.” Bucky’s tail swished angrily as his eyes dropped, focusing intently on Davin, his expression filled with loathing.

You shivered involuntarily, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to find warmth and comfort. The movement caught Bucky’s eyes, and with a softening to his eyes he pulled off his dark windbreaker and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Th-thanks,” you choked out, wincing as your raw throat felt like you had swallowed gravel.

Bucky frowned, but it seemed more concerned than any kind of actual anger, and his tail was coiling and uncoiling behind him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his attention was drawn back to the phone and his tail did its agitated dance once more.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “Going to need an extraction team equipped for a possession and a clean-up crew. It left a mess and civilians are going to be on the scene in minutes.”

_Extraction team? Clean-up crew?_

You tried to focus on the words but the words kept drifting past you, and you entertained the idea you might be going into shock. Only faintly did you hear Bucky quip, “I don’t _know_ the exact height, Strange, it’s the second floor. Fifteen to twenty feet up? Yeah, fine, just hurry up.”

Bucky snapped the flip phone shut, huffing under his breath with clear unhappiness. You wanted to ask him what the hell that phone conversation had been about, but your body felt increasing numb and your gaze had drifted over to Davin again. The inky black substance was all around him, seeping into the carpet and probably staining the floor underneath. You wondered if it would leak through the ceiling of the apartment below you.

_At least Bucky is calling a clean-up crew,_ you thought faintly. You knew you should have been much more alarmed by that statement than you actually were. You didn’t know if it was shock or helpless acceptance at this point, everything felt so disconnected and unreal. Even your throbbing head and the left side of your ribs didn’t hurt as much anymore, though the burning in your throat was severe enough to make your eyes continually water.

Barely blinking when Bucky knelt in front of you again, you managed to pull your focus onto him when he placed a warm hand on your arm. His lips were drawn into a severe line, but angle of his brows was strangely timid.

“I know… I know this hardly seems like the time, I know that you’re reeling, but this is important and I need to say it before they get here.”

“Okay,” you responded automatically, even as a small part of you screamed _who! What is happening!_

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, and in that moment you realized it wasn’t timidity in his eyes. It was guilt.

“They can’t know,” he said softly. “About the mark. About the feedings. They can’t know about any of it. You know about me from when I stopped the _Alp_, but nothing beyond that. Do you understand?”

No. No, you didn’t understand, not even a little bit, but you couldn’t find the words to speak your tumultuous thoughts. Every minute that drew past, you were growing colder, your energy flagging and your strength draining.

“Okay,” you repeated, voice even raspier than before. If you had been more coherent you might have argued the point, but you were hanging on by a tenuous thread.

Perhaps Bucky saw this as he studied your face; he reached out and, very gently as if you were made of glass, cupped your cheek with his human hand. The warmth of it made you realize you were slightly shivering and you leaned into it without thinking, letting your eyelids slip closed.

Bucky spoke your name, a hint of concern underneath, but you just leaned further into his palm.

Why were you _so cold?_

His fingers pushed into your hair as his hand pressed against your cheek. Or… no… your head was drooping and he was trying to hold you up. You hadn’t realized you were slipping forward until his arms were around you, lifting you up against something solid and warm.

You curled against it instinctually, shivering worse now but accompanied by a strange sense of numbness starting at your neck—it was no longer aching but it was difficult to swallow, as if there was a rock stuck in your throat.

Bucky was saying something but it washed over your head. You thought he had said something like, _“hold on, they’re coming,”_ but you couldn’t even be sure of that much.

There was a glowing behind your eyelids and you managed to open them just far enough to see the impossible: a sparking, fiery orange circle forming in your living room. A searing noise rent the air as the sparking edge sliced through your couch, cutting it in half where you had been sitting a moment before.

A man stepped through, and the sight of him was so ridiculous you knew it had to be a hallucination. A neatly trimmed bearded goatee, garish blue robes and a red cape flaring behind him, no one_ real_ could possibly dress that way.

He glanced at you, a questioning dip to his brow, before moving on to stare downward.

“Well, you certainly weren’t kidding about the mess, Sergeant.”

“Where are the healers?” Bucky cut him off sharply. “I think she’s going into shock.”

More people spilled out of the portal, their robes muted earthy colors rather than the circus flair of the first stranger, but the new man ignored them entirely, instead scrutinizing you more closely.

“Heigore venom,” he proclaimed, eyes flicking up toward Bucky’s face. “Far too much for an infestation. He overdosed her. Why?”

“Now is _not the time_,” Bucky said with an impressive growl. “I’m taking her to the Sanctum.”

“Now wait a minute—“

Bucky didn’t stop to hear what he had to say; he moved past him toward the glowing…

_Portal,_ your mind supplied with perfect confidence, as if you’d just rediscovered a forgotten name.

_“Mo…”_ You were nearly to the fiery aperture but you couldn’t leave, not yet, so you pushed out another strangled attempt. _“Mons…st…”_

Bucky faltered to a stop, his arms tightening around your weakening body. He gave a huff and looked over his shoulder.

“For the love of Christ—_beast,_ get over here!”

There was an answering meow and something heavy and grey landed on your stomach. Monster pushed his face against your neck and mewled, sounding small and kittenish in a way you had never heard before.

You tried to lift your arms to wrap them around his furry body, but they wouldn’t move. You couldn’t even raise your head from where it rested against the hard plates of Bucky’s bicep; your skull felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and the rest of your body was no lighter.

The journey through the portal was instantaneous but made your stomach flop the same way it would when an elevator suddenly ascended. Monster leapt off your stomach, but the compression on your chest didn’t lessen.

Reedy noises emanated from your throat as you began to gasp for air.

Hands grasped at you, not Bucky’s but someone else’s. You wanted to scream, tear away from them, because the hands were now segmented appendages, wrapping around your arms and legs and cinching tight around your throat.

A vicious snarl came from somewhere close to your ear, followed by someone shouting. A man yelled something that sounded like, _“Barnes, stop! We’re trying to help!” _but the tightening around your body only increased….

…and then you were free, floating weightless, or perhaps sinking through space. The world began to recede at an alarming rate, the sound of Bucky calling your name following you down into the cold black of nothingness.


	11. Conceive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You reel in the aftermath of the demonic attack, and face some startling truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Christmas update. Enjoy :)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Angst, PTSD

Warm softness covered you, as gentle and comforting as a soothing bath. But you weren’t submerged in water; you could feel silky cotton textures under your fingertips.

Curious, you opened your eyes—or at least attempted to. It took several tries of fighting to lift the weights on your lids that you finally succeeded… and found yourself in a place that was decidedly_ not_ your bedroom.

Lying in a lavish four-poster bed with the maroon-and-gold brocaded curtains tied back, you could see enough to believe you had stumbled into some kind of palace. Exotic tapestries the same rich colors as the bed lined dark panels of wood, faded but expensive bronze carpet runners on the floor, and a massive mahogany desk that looked like it could weigh several hundred pounds. On the air was a faint hint of incense and old wood, not unpleasant but definitely not what you were used to.

You couldn’t begin to guess where you had ended up, nor how you had gotten there. You were still wearing your old clothing, as well as Bucky’s jacket, and when you tried to lift the covers to assess the rest of yourself there was resistance on your left arm.

Something dark and sinewy was wrapped around your wrist, curled carefully but firmly in place. You followed the tail upwards to find Bucky, splayed in a plush armchair next to the bed, head resting on his shoulder as he was fast asleep.

You gawked at him for a good while, unable to do anything else at the sight of something so unexpected. He was so serene and peaceful in sleep, strands of dark hair draped over his face as the hard lines of his forehead were smooth and gentle.

Looking back down at the tail cradling your wrist, you slightly lifted it and turned it in the air. The muscles flexed and got a better grip, refusing to loosen even in sleep. It was… kind of cute and weirdly comforting. How long had he been waiting for you to wake up?

As much as you didn’t want to disturbed him—Bucky seemed dead-asleep, as if he hadn’t rested in a long time—but something was very wrong. You couldn’t remember how you’d gotten here or even _why _you were wearing Bucky’s jacket.

You opened your mouth to call his name… but nothing came out except a soft breath of air.

You tried again with the same result. Confused, you lifted a hand to your throat. Velvety texture met your fingertips, encircling your entire neck in a smooth circumference. You frowned, picking at the material as something simultaneously plucked at your mind.

What was happening? Where were you and why couldn’t you speak—

_—the appendage moved down your throat, cutting off your supply of air. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out—_

_—_and you opened your mouth to scream, expelling only a broken, panicked gasp. Heart leaping like a frightened rabbit, you jerked your arm away from Bucky’s tail and clawed at the binding around your neck.

You couldn’t get it off, it was stuck, it wouldn’t come off, _get it off!_

Strong hands gripped yours tightly, pulling them away from around your throat, but all you could see was Davin looming over you, his mouth opening wide and nothing but black nightmares pouring out.

You pulled your arms tightly against your chest and let out a pathetic wheezing sound that was nothing like the scream it was supposed to be. Terror struck you down to the bone, the animal fear crashing into you wave after wave.

Something wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you against a solid, warm surface. You gave a silent whimper, trying to escape its grasp, but Davin wouldn’t let you go.

In one last desperate, terrified attempt, you twisted your head around and bit down, hard. It was like biting down on stone, but you didn’t let go, your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Stop, _stop! _It’s just me.” A familiar huff-like sigh. “Now let go, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

_Bucky?_

You opened your eyes to find the thing you had bitten down on was his wrist—armored and completely unscathed by your blunt teeth. You immediately let go, jaw aching as your teeth stung.

His name was silent on your tongue, left unvoiced, but you had all the answer you needed when you looked up at him. You nearly cried from the astounding relief coursing from you.

For a few solid seconds, all you did was drink him in, assuring yourself he was really here with you. Bucky seemed completely unharmed, still wearing the same clothing as before, sans the jacket, so you had to figure not too much time had passed.

When you met his eye, you saw Bucky was doing the same visual confirmation you’d done a second ago. Even though his frown seemed troubled, there was something like relief in his eyes.

If you hadn’t known better, you would have said he was worried.

Opening your mouth, you quickly shut it again, having forgotten already that you couldn’t speak. You pointed at your throat questioningly and Bucky’s eyebrows rose in response.

“Yeah. That. You won’t be able to talk for a while. With the tearing on the inside of your throat, the healers didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to talk until you healed. So they, uh… made it so you couldn’t,” he said vaguely, giving what he probably thought was a reassuring look. “They said you should be able to take it off in two days.”

You released a breath as your shoulders fell. Two _days?_ How were you supposed to figure out what the hell was going on when you couldn’t even speak? At least if you’d had your phone you could type out a message, but you didn’t even have that.

So you gave the universal sign of _what the fuck_ by doing an exaggerated shrug and spreading your hands.

“Right, _right,_ sorry, uh…” Bucky ducked his head as he moved away from you, and you only now realized he had gotten onto the bed to… well, stop you from freaking out. You tried not to twist and fidget the sheets in your fists as he searched around for something on the nearby nightstand—a gold and ivory piece that looked more expensive than your car.

“Here.” He lifted up a flipbook, like the kind reporters would stereotypically use, and handed it to you along with a black marker. After handing the items off to you, Bucky sat back on the bed—on the edge and a more conservative distance from you.

You wished he would sit close to you again, and then proceeded to immediately shake the feeling off. After _biting _him, even if you hadn’t done any harm, you didn’t need to embarrass yourself further in front of Bucky.

“Wong said you might want this to communicate with in the meantime. I know it’s not ideal, but…” He chewed the corner of his lip, appearing less confident and assured than you had seen him be before.

When you realized he wasn’t going to continue talking, his eyes dropping and fixing on the velvety duvet, you uncapped the marker and wrote your first word on the pad, hesitating for only a moment. You had no idea where to start, so you focused onto one of the last things he had said.

**Wong?**

You turned the pad around to show to Bucky, who had lifted his gaze at the sound of your scribbling. He wet his lips and nodded.

“Yeah. Don’t know his last name, actually, but he’s second-in-command to Strange. Doctor Strange. They’re, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish wince.

“They’re sorcerers.”

You stared at him. And stared at him. When he didn’t crack and let you in on the joke, you touched the marker to the page again and lifted it up to him.

**What?**

A shadow of a twitch touched his lips this time. “I, uh… guess I have a lot to tell you, huh?”

That was indeed what it sounded like, but you were more pressed to have another question answered first, and your stomach clenched with anxiety as you wrote it out.

**Where are we?**

For all you knew, you could have been in the center of the Earth or on another planet. You could only imagine how far from home you were, but to your confusion, Bucky didn’t seem all that concerned by your question.

In fact… he was _smiling_ a little.

“Manhattan. Turns out, to find the wizard headquarters you don’t have to look any farther than Greenwich Village.”

The smile faltered when you continued to stare at him like an unblinking owl. He cleared his throat as his tail curled in on itself, and in a weird urge you didn’t understand, you had to actually stop yourself from reaching out and petting it.

“Okay, so,” Bucky began slowly, “wizards exist. They belong to an order called the Masters of the Mystic Arts. Basically, they guard the planet from threats that are more… supernatural in nature.”

He hesitated before adding somberly, “Like demons.”

A sensation of icy fingers crawled up your spine, leaving you frozen and slightly trembling. Bucky seemed to catch on to your sudden shift in mood; his lips pulled into a frown and he shifted a few inches closer.

“It’s all right,” he reassured you. “They know what I am. Sometimes, they even use my abilities in hunting the more powerful demons. They’re mostly aware of the situation we’re in. _Mostly_,” he emphasized with a pointed look.

So, they didn’t know about your mark, and from what little you could recall before you’d passed out, they didn’t know about the feedings, either.

Guilt wormed its way through you like a rotted apple. You hadn’t even been thinking about Bucky’s safety—you’d been remembering your most recent encounter with another demon and been hit by the horrifying realization that Davin might be close by.

No… not Davin. The demon possessing Davin. How long had the demon been there? Surely, you would have known something was wrong.

And you_ had_, hadn’t you? Ever since the Halloween party, he’d been acting so strange. Intrusive, creepy, and borderline invasive as he’d targeted you with his attentions.

It couldn’t be a coincidence: First the _Alp_, and then Bucky, and now this thing that had attacked you. Why _you?_ Why was this always happening to _you?_ Were you some kind of goddamn demon magnet and couldn’t shake them off no matter what you did? Hell, even your_ cat_ wasn’t a normal cat.

_Is something wrong with me? Why does this keep happening? What did I do? _That thing inside Davin could have killed you, and your mom would have never known the truth; you would have just been a body on the news.

_If Bucky hadn’t shown up when he had… oh, God—_

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s voice startled you back to the present. You hadn’t realized your breathing had quickened into a frantic pace he called your attention to it. “Just breathe,” he added, worry creasing his brow as he leaned closer.

You shook your head, each attempt to calm your nerves only making them soar higher. Demons possessing your coworkers? Wizards in Manhattan? That wasn’t even the worst part!

No, the part that really took the cake, the part that had sent your life spiraling_ out of control _was the fact you had to have demon sex because of some terrible mystery curse.

Or was it a mystery? The thing inside Davin seemed to know what it was and what you were.

_Demon’s whore._

Was that all you were now? A plaything for demons to fuck or kill or feed on when they wanted?

You pulled your knees to your chest, trying your damnedest to keep your expression under control but you could feel the tension in your throat and the stinging in your eyes that told you tears were imminent.

Bucky said your name, so softly and with such sweet concern that it was your undoing. The dam broke and the tears spilled out as you buried your face into your knees, hugging your legs tightly as you curled in on yourself.

The scent of earth and pine enveloped you as firmly as his arms did, familiar and grounding. You pressed against him without even thinking, the urge to be as close to Bucky as you could felt as natural as breathing. The silent sobs died in your throat, leaving only tears moving down your cheeks to dampen his shirt.

Without even trying or having to say a word, Bucky made you feel safe, and you needed that more than anything right now. It also reassured you that whatever the situation was, whatever your mark really meant, you knew Bucky would never intentionally harm you, and he had proven the opposite time and time again.

You were alive and Bucky was here. That’s all that mattered, all you could possibly focus on as your mind replayed the violent images in your apartment over and over. You closed your eyes tight in an attempt to shut them out, burying your face into, what you belatedly realized, was Bucky’s chest.

He stiffened slightly but didn’t remove his arms around you. Instead, he said, “You’re okay now. You’re all right,” and rubbed soothing circles into your back. The collar of his shirt was slightly dipped down and your nose was pressed against his collarbone.

It was probably the most inappropriate timing ever, but you realized how very close you were, practically in his lap, and how_ good_ he smelled.

You wanted to linger there much longer and not have to face whatever was coming next, but you didn’t trust the way your body was reacting. You didn’t know if it was the mark, pheromones, or just your dumb lizard-brain wanting to feel something nice after all the terror it had endured.

Eventually you pulled away, looking down at the pad clenched in your hands as you did so. You scribbled out one word and lifted the pad up slightly, almost timidly in a reflection of your own embarrassment.

**Sorry.**

“Hey.”

You forced yourself to meet his eye, swallowing nervously as you did so. His expression was gentle, and coupled with his close proximity, it was a dangerous combination.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, all right? You’ve been through insanity after insanity, and frankly, with how well you were holding up I was beginning to wonder if you were human.”

You blanched and he immediately winced.

“Sorry, bad joke, really bad joke. No, you’re _definitely _human, just… a very tough one.”

His praise, even if couched as a joke, was enough to make your cheeks warm. You looked down at the pad and wrote out another question.

**What happened?**

Even though it was almost vague, Bucky’s deepening frown and the slump of his shoulders told you he knew what you meant. He eventually met your eye, even though it seemed a struggle for him to do so.

“Your friend was infested by a heigore. They’re a type of parasitic demon, a real pain in the ass because they essentially hide in plain sight. Usually, you can spot them because of behavioral changes in their host.” He gave a light snort, a look of disgust briefly crossing his features. “They have access to all of their host’s memories, so if they wanted to they could blend in seamlessly. But they’re either too stupid or just don’t care about being subtle, because they’re usually caught by acting out.”

With a slight eyeroll he added, “When you hear about historical possessions, there’s usually a heigore involved. Pretty sure the Exorcist was based off of a particularly nasty one. They’re dramatic little shits, but… not usually lethal. They need their hosts to survive in order to live inside them.”

Bucky levelled a gaze at you that was so heavy and intense you had to fight to not look away.

“In fact, they try to cause as little harm as possible during the transference so they don’t harm their new host. But what that heigore did to you… the sorcerers say it’s unprecedented. It didn’t just rip at you with its hooks, it overdosed you with its paralysis venom. It looks like it was either interrupted, or forcibly removed.”

For a moment he let the silence hang in the air, expectant, but you just swallowed and were reminded of that horrible event by the irritation in your throat.

Bucky’s eyes roved over your face when you neglected to touch the marker to the pad again, and he gently asked, “I know how hard it is, but I need you to tell me what happened.” You looked down again, and he asked, “What made him stop? Did he say anything to you? Was anyone else there?”

You shook your head, biting down hard on your lip. You wanted to tell him what the thing, the heigore, had said about the demon pact and being a slave, but… how would you even begin? It would have been hard enough with a voice, and without one it seemed impossible.

Instead, you scribbled out a line that said, **Will tell you later.**

Bucky’s lisp pressed into a thin line but he nodded. “Okay. I can wait. Probably best not to discuss it here, anyway. Do you…” He hard-swallowed, the strict ridge of his brows formed into a nervous expression. “Is there anything that you need?”

You knew he wasn’t asking about any personal items you might have need of—he was asking if the mark was beginning to burn. You shook your head but wrote out your answer, just to be clear.

**Not yet.**

Bucky’s shoulders loosened, but you didn’t feel the same amount of relief. The agony you had felt during your attack hadn’t just come from the heigore, the mark had burned _so badly_ you were sure it was going to torch you like a cinder. The pain had faded into a dull throb, but it was still there. A constant reminder, if the parasitic demon could be believed, of your new role.

Avoiding Bucky’s gaze, you wrote out another question.

**Monster?**

You were sure your cat had come with you through the portal (God, had there really been a _portal?_) but he was nowhere within the large room that you could see.

To your surprise, Bucky’s lips formed into a small smile. “Oh, he’s around, don’t worry about him. A wizard’s palace would be a playground for a beast like that.”

You frowned slightly of his use of the word _beast,_ but it was spoken almost with fondness, so you let it go. Instead, you wrote out another name, this one filling your stomach with dread.

**Davin?**

The smile quickly fell from Bucky’s face, replaced by an expression that was oddly unreadable. Even his tail twitched in an unpredictable manner you couldn’t gauge.

“At the moment, they’re keeping him unconscious. Strange said he wanted to make sure his body was fully healed so he had the best chance to survive the exorcism process.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Knowing Davin hadn’t been in control of his actions, that he was a victim at least as much as you were, had changed your view of him in an instant. The idea that he might not survive what had happened to him…

_Davin was only involved because of me,_ you realized in a moment of unpleasant, shocking epiphany. _That thing wanted me. Davin was just the tool it used because it wanted **me.**_

“Hey.” Bucky reached out to you, immediately pulling his hand back when you looked up at him. “Your friend is going to be fine. He’s young and healthy, and Strange says his chances of pulling through are good.”

Before he had even finished speaking, you had flipped the page to write a new message.

**Coworker. Not friend.**

Bucky’s lips tightened into a frown. “You knew who he was and he was in your apartment. I just assumed…” He broke eye contact and clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter what I assumed. It’s none of my business. You have every right to still have your own life. With friends, and boyfriends, and—“

You interrupted Bucky by holding up the pad, tapping on the word you had underlined.

** Coworker. **

For some stupid reason you couldn’t understand, the idea that Bucky thought you were involved with Davin was… unbearable. Sure, you’d had a crush on him once upon a time, but that was before all of_ this_ had happened.

Bucky didn’t look entirely convinced, and he gave a shrug as he said, “The heigore often chooses its next host based on the person its current host is closest to. So… whether you accept it or not, the heigore thought that was you.”

His words stopped your breath short. Could it be true? No, it couldn’t be. It was a stupid parasite, what did it know about who Davin cared for? That certainly wasn’t _you._ It had probably only picked Davin because…

…because you weren’t close to anyone. Not at work, not in your inexistent social life. You had no one, so the demon had taken your little crush and twisted it into something perverse and used it to its advantage.

You swallowed with difficulty and stared down at your hands, the feelings of guilt circling your head like a swarm of bees.

“I’m gonna… go.”

Bucky’s words snapped you out of your self-loathing, and you looked up at him, blinking. He was somewhat looking at you, or rather, his eyes had drifted over to your right shoulder. You shifted it unconsciously.

“I’ve probably stayed too long as it is. The heigore left a mess behind it, and the sorcerers are going to have their hands full. Plus, you need more rest. Strange will expect a full debriefing when you’re all healed up, but in the meantime… get as much sleep as you can. And make sure no one sees the… you know.”

You gave a small nod, feeling alone all of a sudden. You didn’t want Bucky to leave, not yet, not in this strange place with thoughts of fear still swirling in your head.

But Bucky was already standing up, and with an eerie shimmer, his horns and tail and wings vanished into the air. Only his arm, gnarled and the color of raw iron, gave any indication he wasn’t like any other man.

“Someone should be in to bring you food and new clothes. They just ask that you don’t leave the room without an escort.” Bucky gave a small wince that was almost sheepish. “Probably for the best. Easy to get lost in this place, and not everything you meet is entirely friendly.”

With that cryptic statement, Bucky turned toward the only door you could see, set across the room into the far wall. He wasn’t even halfway across the bedroom before your bare feet were on the carpet, carrying you directly toward him.

He must have heard the rustling of the sheets or the near-silent padding of your footsteps, because Bucky turned and raised his eyebrows.

“What are you doing—“ He lifted his arm to gesture toward the bed, giving you the perfect opportunity to slip underneath it and wrap your arms firmly around his chest.

You could actually hear the air escaping from his lungs as if you had just tackled him in the gut, but he didn’t push you away. You held on tightly, squeezing him around the ribcage as you laid your head against his armored shoulder, your cheek against the carved lines of the pentagram. You were surprised by how pleasantly warm the demonic arm was, and you held on to him that much more firmly, needing the grounding reassurance with a sudden fierceness that took you by surprise.

You hadn’t really thought it through, but the idea that Bucky was going to leave before you could properly_ thank_ him for saving your life was too much to bear.

Bucky’s hesitation was short, and his arms encircled your back in a way that felt so _right_ that you knew the heigore had to be wrong. This wasn’t slavery or a curse. It was just… just _him._ It was just _Bucky,_ and he was holding you to his chest with such warmth that you knew you had been mistaken about him hating you.

“I’m sorry,” he said so softly you almost didn’t catch it. “You didn’t deserve this.”

You slightly shook your head, wanting him to know you didn’t blame him. As far as you knew, this demon had nothing to do with Bucky, and if he hadn’t shown up… Hell, even the stupid mark had saved you from being possessed by that thing.

Maybe… _maybe_ if you could learn more about the mark, find out exactly what a demon pact was and all the rules that came with it… it didn’t have to _be _a bad thing.

It wasn’t long before your mind, or rather your body, began to wander. Visions of Bucky lifting you up and carrying you to the bed, ripping off your clothing in one fell swoop and covering your body with his as he—

No, _no!_ Not _now!_ You were actually having a nice moment for once; you weren’t going to let_ that_ ruin it for you!

As he slowly pulled away, your gaze lingered a little too long on the lines of his collarbone and the fullness of his lips. The mark was throbbing with discomfort, but even then, you knew you had at least a couple more days before it got bad. So why did you want Bucky to pull you back into his arms and feel his lips on your neck?

Bucky cleared his throat and you snapped your attention back up to his eyes from where they had been staring at his mouth. You noticed with a flutter in your stomach that his pupils were dark, and the way he wet his lips with his tongue seemed more sensual than practical.

_Shit._

“We’ll… worry about everything else when this is all over, okay?” he said in a voice huskier than usual. He seemed to know exactly what was racing through your mind, but from the warmth on your cheeks, it would have been pretty obvious to anyone.

You gave a nod and took a step back to a safer distance, and yet… you felt even less secure than you had in his arms, not to mention colder.

With a last, lingering look, Bucky opened the door and went out into what looked like a candlelit, stone hallway, and with a heavy click of the closing door, he was gone.

You blew out a ragged breath and returned to the bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as you tried to get warm. The memory of Bucky’s presence was enough to make you flush, and you realized you were looking forward to when he came back. Not just so that he could keep you updated on the situation, or because he was a familiar face in strange surroundings, but because….

…you enjoyed being with him. Not because of the sex, not because you owed him anything. Even that first night when he had appeared in your bedroom like a strange but pleasant dream, it was immediately clear he was a genuinely good person. And every time he seemed to withdraw and pull away from you, it hurt because…

_Because…._

_Oh,_ you thought with faint surprise_. Oh, no._

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through these sporadic updates :) I hope you enjoyed these chapters and are happy with where I'm taking this story. It's been a week since I've written anything and I already feel rusty, so if you would like to let me know your thoughts and feelings, please do!


	12. Verboten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding a way out of your room, you go exploring in the bowels of the wizard's palace and come face-to-face with a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you had a wonderful and safe New Years :) Enjoy this spooky chapter where we uncover the mystery of demon pacts.
> 
> (And don't worry, next chapter we will return to our angsty and pining programming.)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Horror

You paced the length of the room, slippered feet padding almost silently across the intricate carpet runners. After Bucky had left, eight hours ago according to the antique clock on the fireplace mantle, you suspected you were beginning to go mad. Or at least, had a very strong case of cabin fever.

You had napped. You had examined every inch of the large, fascinating bedroom with its assortment of ornamental, old-fashioned furniture. You’d changed into a new set of clothing you’d found in the nearby dark oak armoire, which consisted of a nice dark blue robe with matching slippers. You picked out the robe with the longest sleeves to cover the mark, and also the building was very drafty and cold after the sun had set outside the high, opaque windows.

Perhaps you weren’t being imprisoned, but you may as well have been. Your only visitor had been a bald man who looked more like a monk than a wizard. He’d brought you food and the only thing he had asked of you was to write down the names of anyone who might have come into contact with Davin.

Recalling the Halloween party in a completely different light, you wrote down Theresa’s name with a knot in your throat. You didn’t know who else had been in the demon’s crosshairs, but from what Bucky had alluded to, it had probably harmed a lot of people just to reach you. As if that wasn’t enough to make your insides churn with guilt, you didn’t know_ why_ you had been a target.

After you had handed off the piece of paper and the man had left, no one had come to see you. Not this Dr. Strange person, or more monk-wizards, or even Bucky himself.

You had essentially been left alone, in the proverbial dark, without even the sound of your own voice to comfort you.

Flopping down onto the bed and giving a huff as your back hit the luxurious duvet, you stared up at the ceiling of the bed canopy and wondered at your predicament. You were grateful to the wizards, really. They must have healed your injuries because you were pretty sure you’d cracked a rib and suffered a concussion—plus whatever the heigore had done to you.

Heigores, _Alpen, _and incubi. _Oh, my._

You gave a snort and rolled over onto your stomach. _Maybe I should start a Pokedex of demons. A demon-dex._

You gave another snort, imagining Bucky’s face if you told him that. Would he even understand the reference? You couldn’t imagine he watched many cartoons, though in reality… you had no idea. You still didn’t know where he lived or what he did with most of his free time.

For a moment, you contemplated the idea that he might actually live _here_, in the wizard palace, but then you dismissed the idea almost as quickly. With how terse Bucky had been on the phone, even if he seemed on friendly terms with the wizards, you couldn’t imagine he wanted to live with them.

Just thinking of Bucky made your stomach squirm with nerves. Your earlier epiphany had been a startling one you couldn’t even begin to unpack. It had occurred to you that your feelings _might _stem from the mark itself, but the longer you thought about it, the more it didn’t feel like the right conclusion.

But you also knew you couldn’t rely on your gut instincts in this instance, not when you might be under some kind of cursed magical influence. What you needed were answers, and you weren’t going to _get _any stuck in this _goddamn room!_

_C-r-e-e-e-a-k._

Lifting up your head with a jolt, you stared toward the door on the opposite side of the room as it slowly swung open. Your lips drew into a frown when you didn’t see anyone enter the room but the door remained halfway open, revealing flickering candlelight in the hallway.

You opened your mouth to speak, remembered you couldn’t, and then let loose a puff of air meant to be a started squawk when Monster’s furry bulk was suddenly in your face. He meowed at you as he rubbed his face against your forehead, and you sighed heavily but couldn’t stop the grin as you hugged him to your chest tightly.

Even though you knew he couldn’t talk back (as far as you knew), you still desperately wanted to talk to him. Ask him what trouble he’d been up to and if he had been bothering the wizards. Even venting about your pseudo-imprisonment would have been a relief, but whatever had been done to take your voice away was still firmly in place. It must have had something to do with the fabric around your neck, and from what you’d seen in the mirror in the attached bathroom, it appeared to be a piece of black velvet.

It must have some kind of magical enchantment on it, and you figured as long as it was in place, you were stuck like this. You didn’t understand why they couldn’t just heal it like they’d done everything else, but then again, you didn’t seem to understand a lot of what had happened to you.

You sighed and flopped back onto your back, stewing in silent misery. At least you had Monster, who at that moment, decided to walk across the bed, step on all the sensitive parts of your stomach, and jump off the bed.

Sitting up, you watched as he scampered over to the door… and looked back over his shoulder towards you.

You looked up at the door, and then back at him. He flicked his tail and disappeared through the doorway, which remained quite open.

You chewed your lip nervously. You knew you should stay put, but then again… If the wizards had truly wanted you confined to the room, they would have locked the door, right?

Hesitating for only a heartbeat longer, you shot off the bed toward the door. Once at the hallway, you cautiously peeked your head out. It was empty and filled with soft candlelight reflecting off the stone façade.

Monster waited at the end of the hallway, sitting patiently as he stared back at you.

_Well, if I’m caught, what are they going to do? Lock me in a room? _Besides, how many people got the opportunity to explore a wizard’s magisterium?

Mustering your courage, you headed after him, your slippers no louder than a ghost’s footsteps. Monster rose to his feet and turned around, disappearing down a nearby hallway like a silent shadow.

The feeling of being underground that you had sensed in the hallway only increased as you realized you were going to an angled incline. Growing nervous as the incline began to spiral, and the feeling of descending grew stronger, you opened your mouth to call out to Monster, once again thwarted by silence. Having no choice but to go after him, you continued down the hallway as it grew narrower and the spiral became tighter.

Just when you had decided that following a hobgoblin into the bowels of a wizard dungeon was _insane_, the spiral ended and opened up into a large, gloomy hallway. The ornate lamps had been replaced by honest-to-God flickering torches.

Towards the end of the hallway, Monster once again waited for you, green eyes half-closed in the approximation of a smile. You drew closer, and once you spied what exactly he was standing in front of, you came to a dead-stop.

It was at least twenty feet high, made of the darkest wood you had ever seen, and covered with rows upon rows of massive metal bars locking it in place.

_This is bad,_ you thought. _Really, really bad. Doors that big and heavy never have anything nice behind them._

Monster must not have gotten the memo, because he walked right up to it and pawed at the wood as if scratching to be let in.

You sighed and reached down to pick him up, this adventures had gone on long enough—and then you immediately jumped back as you heard a loud clank.

_Clank. Clank clank clank. **Clank!**_

One by one, the metal bars slid aside of their own accord, down and down until the door was freed of all of its locks.

With a long, dreadful creak that sent a shot of fear up your spine, the massive door slowly swung open. It stopped after only a short moment, leaving just enough space for a person to slide through, and before you could stop him, Monster shot through the pitch black opening.

You hissed between your teeth, hands anxiously clutching at your sides, but Monster didn’t come back. You waited, listening with your head tilted, but you couldn’t hear anything beyond the darkness.

You could turn back, no one would blame you if you did. It would be the smart thing to do… but what kind of coward would leave their cat behind?

Holding your breath, you slid through the door as fast as you could, not wanting to be crushed between the door if it decided to close on you. But it didn’t close, not even after you were all the way through, inside a room that was completely dark—until with a whoosh of air around you, the lamps on the walls sprang to life.

You almost wished you’d been left in the dark. The lamps glowed with an eerie green, and even the massive crystal chandelier glowed with venomous green candlelight.

What was revealed in the light made a silent scream clutch in your throat, the urge to flee clawing at your spine, but you remained immutably still.

There were rows and rows of trophy cases along the walls of the long room. Mounted heads lined the walls, one after another with barely a space between them. Worse of all, the taxidermy figures dispersed all around the room.

As far as you could tell, every single one of them had once been, or belonged to… a demon.

Large, curled horns on plaques, great winged beasts posted in fierce positions postmortem, and cabinets filled with jars of bones and organs and other items that would look at home in a biology classroom from Hell. It looked like, and you suspected it was, someone’s demonic _trophy room._

Your feet carried you forward, slowly and inevitably, as your eyes dragged over everything, each item more horrific than the last. Even Monster seemed unnerved by your grim surroundings as he padded by, his fur puffed up. A growl or two escaped his chest as he continued forward, but you were too distracted by the macabre and grotesque displays to pay him any attention.

It wasn’t until you reached the cabinet filled with jars that looked suspiciously like preserved demonic fetuses that you had to turn away, your throat closing up as you reflexively gagged. Pain flared in your throat, reminding you why you weren’t allowed to speak in the first place, and you forced your gag reflex down by taking slow, deep breaths. The last thing you needed was to hurt yourself while being in a place you definitely weren’t supposed to be.

With a slow breath, you forced yourself to focus on finding Monster so you could pick him up and get the hell out of there. You didn’t know what this place was supposed to be or why the wizards would have it, but you weren’t planning on sticking around to find out.

You had to warn Bucky, there was no way in hell you would stand by and let him become someone’s_ trophy_ on a wall—

Monster’s meow cut through your thoughts, drawing your attention to the end of the long room. He sat on his haunches next to some kind of podium, more lit than the surrounding area by a pale, yellow light.

On that podium… was a book. It was thick, covered with dust, and even at this distance, you could tell that it was old.

You approached cautiously while giving Monster a reproachful look, trying to convey to him that you wanted to leave. He only returned the expression with wide, watchful eyes, and when you bent down to grab him he skittered out of your grasp and pranced away.

Your shoulder bumped into the podium and you grabbed the edges of the dark wood to steady it. A tingle like static electricity went through your fingers, but when you straightened up and stared down at the book, nothing seemed out of place besides the general creepiness. It was ancient, dusty and bound in some kind of skin you didn’t want to try and identify. There was no writing on the cover; instead intricate silver metalwork was molded into the corners of the book.

It looked exactly like a dark tome that an evil witch would use on children in a fairytale, but this wasn’t a story. As many strange things as you’d seen over the past two months, this room confirmed for you more than anything that the occult was real, and more often than not, dangerous.

So why was it that you couldn’t take your eyes away from the wrinkled, stitched cover, and why your hand was slowly reaching out toward the edge of the book?

_I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t. But… Monster did lead me here. Maybe I should… It wouldn’t be wrong to just take a peek, would it?_

Your fingers made contact and traced across the cover, feeling the rough and bumpy leather underneath. A distant part of your mind yelled _it’s not animal skin!_ but you ignored it and continued to touch the surface with a curious motion, like a lover’s caress.

There was something you needed to _see_ in this book, you knew it even if you didn’t understand why, and the anxious feelings began to drain out of you as your fingers curled around the edge.

As you pulled the book open, heavy and resistant for a moment before it opened freely, the edges of the pages sliced across your finger like a thin razor.

You opened your mouth in a silent yelp as you let the book fall open, thudding dully against the podium as billows of dust sprang into the air. Watching the golden dust motes catch the light, you stuck your stinging finger into your mouth and glared at the book resentfully.

The edges of the pages were tinged in red from your cut… but the blood didn’t stay there. The red color began to move across the page, almost as if the paper was soaking it in, and you watched in frozen shock as it moved and coalesced into a line, and finally… into a single word.

**Ask.**

You stared at the words, crimson not with ink, but with your own blood. You’d read enough stories to know not to trust strange objects that seemed to have their own intelligence. Nothing ever good came out of those situations for the characters.

Still… this was _real_, not a fantasy, and nothing had hurt you yet beyond a simple papercut. Maybe that’s how it communicated, using blood as ink, not that_ that_ made it any better.

It didn’t matter—you didn’t know how to communicate with the book, anyway. You couldn’t speak and there were no nearby writing utensils that you could see. It was better to leave the thing alone; you reached forward to close the book, but snatched your hand back when the ink dissolved on the page and formed into new words.

**Neither speech nor pen is required to commune. Blood is the bond.**

_Huh?_ Now you were confused_ and_ your skin was crawling.

The red words once again blurred and condensed to say: **Your thoughts will suffice.**

_Oh._ A shiver went up your spine as the hair on your neck stood up. _No, no, I don’t like this._

You could have sworn the words formed faster this time.

**Then cease opening doors you are not prepared to walk through.**

You nearly lost your nerve right then and there, ready to slam the book shut and bolt from the room, but your hand hesitated in midair.

_What…_ You took a hard gulp; you would have to word everything very carefully if this thing could actually see inside your head. _What did you mean by… ‘ask’?_

You watched with dread as the words reformed themselves, feeling no better when they were legible.

**Knowledge is first obtained with a question.**

_I don’t… I don’t understand._

**Ask yours.**

You were even more confused now. You didn’t have any questions; you just wanted to leave, to go back to your room and wait for Bucky and pretend you’d never found this room—

**Liar.**

The red words stood out on the page like an accusation. Fear tightened around your throat like a hand, but there was a small part of you that was, well… _offended_.

_I’m not a liar!_ you threw back at it. _I don’t want to be here._ _I didn’t mean to find this place, and I sure as hell don’t want to be talking to a talking book!_

The word didn’t change, remaining resolute and damning on the otherwise blank page. You grit your teeth in a silent growl and reached out to close the book to end it once and for all.

The words were already scattering and condensing before your hand ever touched the page.

**You wish to know about the demon pact.**

Your hand once again froze in midair, paralyzed by surprise and then by indecision.

_You… you know about that?_

Without warning, the pages flipped as if blown by a gust of wind, stopping just as quickly on another page, only this one wasn’t blank. It was filled with strange writing you didn’t understand, ancient script in black ink that hurt your eyes the longer you stared at it, but you couldn’t look away as the words began to shimmer and change into a language you could understand.

* * *

**Demon Pacts: A Summation of the Relationship Between a Demon Master and its Human Slave**

_Taken from the notes of Sable Hyhbal, Loremaster of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, 284 A.D._

The demon is a creature designed for servitude and to fulfill the whims of its human master. However, in the cases of freed demons, a perversion of this bond may be created in the form of a demon pact. Both parties must enter into the bargain of their own free will[1] and it is formally compacted by the human giving the demon an _animus_: an object of meaningful value to the human’s spirit.

One may ask, quite reasonably, why any human would wish to enter into a pact with a demon. It is true that demons are powerful creatures, and they may be used for any number of wants and wishes. In exchange for whatever the bargain-maker desires, once that bargain is fulfilled[2] the human becomes bound to the demon in a subservient role[3]. This is manifested on the body of the human with a sigil that has some particular meaning to the demon, and marks the human as its property.

Unlike the stories perpetuated by the _Ecclesia Magna_[4], the demon master does not “own” the soul of the human slave, merely the body. It will feed from its slave, defend its territory from other demons, and be able to locate its human whenever it so chooses[5].

_[The following notes are conjecture and do not reflect official opinion of the Masters of the Mystic Arts]_

Most of my predecessors believe that this is the extent of the demon’s benefits from the pact, but from what I have observed in my travels throughout Rome, I strongly disagree. It is my solid belief that a freed demon enters into these pacts, not for a readily available feed source, but as a means of protection from its two greatest threats: death and rebinding.

I witnessed what was, for all intents and purposes, the death of a freed demon by the hands of a bound demon. It was at the moment of apparent death that the nearby human slave fell to the ground, boneless as if taking a great blow. The freed demon then stood, clear of all injury, and slew the bound demon without difficulty.

When I was able to examine the human slave’s body, I found the strangest occurrence—there was no body, only a pile of burnt ashes and the smell of sulfur. This was most curious, as these are the same signs of a demon’s death, where they collapse into ashes and return to the hellish world from which they come. I can only come to the conclusion that the demon master’s life was retained at the cost of their human slave being banished in their place.

I cannot believe these instances are coincidence, but the Masters are reluctant to accept the troubling implications, especially given the context that demons may have multiple pacts and multiple slaves, rendering them with near godlike invincibility.

I have not witnessed this as of yet, but I believe in the event of a freed demon being rebound to a human master against its will, the demon may slay its human slaves and break free of its bindings by consuming their life-force.

The Masters have dismissed my ideas as mere conjecture. I fear their pointed ignorance will lead to an oversight, for a demon that cannot be killed or controlled presents a great threat to our order.

* * *

As you read your stomach grew tighter with each word, but you couldn’t stop once you’d started. You drank up every word as if you had been dying of thirst, fascination with the historical arcane warring with the fear in your chest.

When you reached the end of the passage, your thoughts were weighed with the implications of what you could understand, and anxiety at what you couldn’t. A lot of it made sense, such as the sigil on your shoulder and Bucky’s uncanny ability to find you whenever you were in trouble.

What didn’t make sense was basically everything else. The bargaining itself, which you were positive neither you nor Bucky had agreed to. Whatever an _animus_ was, you had never given anything like that to him.

The only comforting passage was the fact that only your body was bound to the pact, not your mind and certainly not your heart. That, at least, was a major relief, but it was overshadowed by the last paragraphs. You hoped this wizard had been wrong, but even if he wasn’t, you knew Bucky wouldn’t hurt you. Maybe that was being naïve, but you felt it to your bones that you could trust him and that he had nothing to do with this.

The idea, once formed in your mind, brought a spark of hope.

_Book, is there a way to reverse the pact? This is some kind of mistake._

The pages flipped backward until they stopped on a blank page, the blood ink once again forming its answer.

**There was no mistake.**

You frowned. No, that couldn’t be right. It _wasn’t_ right, and the stupid book telling you otherwise set your teeth on edge.

_We never agreed to any bargain! There was no deal!_

The words were etched out on the page before you had even completed your thought: **You parted with an _animus_ and transferred it into the sole care of James Buchanan Barnes.**

You pressed the heels of your hand against the wood of the podium, baring your teeth as you mentally shouted, _When!_

The blood ink vanished and you expected the page to remain blank. Instead, an exact date was written on the sheet.

**May 13th, 1995.**

You stared at the page, lips parted in confusion. The question had been rhetorical; you hadn’t actually expected an answer, especially one so odd. What did the date mean? It didn’t make sense, you hadn’t met Bucky until two months ago, in 1995 you would have been…

…ten years old.

_She wasn’t very smart, or maybe she was just really brave, _Bucky’s voice floated to you across a memory. _She didn’t run when the others did. She just stood there and looked right at me as if she’d been waiting for me. Weird kid._

You were frozen, unable to slow the pieces of conversation from that night as they poured into your head like a floodgate thrown open.

_A group of silly little girls one day decided to open a portal using a Ouija board, and I was able to come through._

_No,_ you thought, echoing your thoughts from that Halloween night._ I would have remembered._

_You don’t remember_, Bucky had said,_ because I didn’t want you to remember._

A stone formed in the pit of your stomach, hard and unbearable as your heart fluttered unpleasantly in your chest.

No, it wasn’t true. Whatever happened, whatever you can’t remember, Bucky didn’t… he didn’t make a pact with you and force you to forget…

_Did he?_

This last thought you focused on the book, and it answered in a slow manner that made you feel as if you were being mocked.

**We are not all-knowing. The knowledge we obtained through your blood is gained only through your eyes. This demon’s intentions are unknown to you, therefore it is unknown to us.**

You really, _really_ didn’t like the fact the book was now referring to itself in the plural, and you wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. There was one last thing you needed to know, and it was a good thing you only had to think it; the tightening in your throat would have made speech impossible.

_How do we break the bond?_

The answer was quick, concise, and without mercy.

**Death.**

Without prompting, the damning word faded and three took its place.

**Yours or his.**

_How would you know! _You dug your nails into the wood as you hunched your shoulders. _You’re just some stupid book and I am done letting you fill my head with this bullshit!_

A static shock went up your arms, making you jerk backwards, except your feet remained firmly glued to the floor. With a rush of panic, you realized you couldn’t pull your palms off of the podium either.

_Let me go!_

Bloody ink appeared on the page, bolder and jerkier than the careful script it had been earlier.

**We gain our knowledge from the dead, and the dead will have their due.**

Red liquid you knew wasn’t ink began to bubble up from the open crease of the book, spilling down the crease and onto the podium, reaching for your hands like small, horrific fingers.

Just when they were about to reach the tips of your fingers, Monster leapt onto the podium with an angry yowl. He knocked the book shut with his paws and trapped it shut, his sharp claws digging into its surface.

A sound you could never truly describe erupted from the book, wailing like thousands of damned souls from the dark void of nothingness. You snatched Monster up in your arms and ran, refusing to look behind you as you fled from the room. You didn’t look even when door slammed shut with a deep _boom _behind you, vibrating the stones under your feet.

Shadows jumped out at you as you ran, caused by the fluttering torches at your panicked passage. You barely slowed as you ran up the curling ramp, and by the time you reached the familiar hallway outside your room, you were so winded you could barely breathe.

Once inside the safety of your room, you kicked the door shut behind you and wedged your back against it, fully expecting something to try and barge its way through.

Monster leapt from your arms and trotted across the room to the bed, completely ignoring you as you panted for breath. He jumped up onto the covers and began to knead his claws into the duvet like he always did before taking a nap, as if nothing at all happened.

After waiting a few minutes and convinced that_ probably_ nothing had followed you from that nightmarish room, you wiped your forehead over your sleeve, leaving a damp patch on the silken fabric.

_Fuck,_ you thought, hands trembling hard as your heart continued to thud wildly in your chest. _Holy shit._

As terrifying as that room had been, as many nightmares as you knew that book was going to give you, the horror began to fade in the golden light from the high windows, the room that had once appeared a prison to you was now warm and safe.

Shivering, you quickly rushed to the bed and got under the covers, pulling Monster to you and hugging him to your chest. He barely tolerated it, moving a few inches away to plop down next to your hip as he curled up and prepared for a nap.

You tried to slow your thudding heart and still your shaking hands, telling yourself over and over that you were safe and nothing had followed you back. Despite the appearance of safety and your repeated mantra, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the door, nor pull your mind away from the words etched in red.


	13. Affray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healed from your ordeal, you want nothing more than to go home. Dr. Strange has other plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Please accept this humble gift and my apologies for not updating in so long.
> 
> Two more chapters of plotty plot, and then we'll return to our horny roots. Never fear ;)

You barely slept that night, the puffiness under your eyes betraying your restlessness and the worry that plagued your mind. Still, you were almost relieved when the next day you were led from your temporary quarters to another part of the wizard’s palace.

The room, where you were told to sit and wait by the bald monk-wizard, was one of the strangest you’d seen yet. It wasn’t the antique furniture or the ancient fixtures that drew your eye, but the odd assortment of ornaments perched on the shelves and desk.

A suit of armor sat in one corner of the wall, appearing to be made of slate grey scales with yellow runes drawn on the dark metal plates. On the wood paneled wall was an oval mirror that seemed to reflect the room, or would have if your surroundings had been shrouded in darkness.

The mahogany desk, which sat in front of a circular window that revealed the Manhattan skyline through old, yellowed glass, was covered in whirring, glittering knickknacks. Shimmering gyroscopes that seemed to move on their own, miniature models of the solar system that were connected by silver threads in seemingly random ways, and what you swore was an intricate abacus that seemed to move the beads when you weren’t looking.

All in all, it was everything you could have hoped for from a wizard’s office.

Instead of sitting on the plush armchair stationed in front of the large desk, you surveyed each of these fantastical objects, along with the expansive bookshelf and the weathered window.

It was still hard to believe that there were wizards living in the middle of Greenwich Village, and the once-excited view you’d held about that fact was tainted with fear after your visit to the basement. Even now there was tension in your shoulders as you searched the corners for signs of malicious intent. The wizards had done nothing to hurt you or make you feel afraid, except for the treasure trove of demonic artifacts that could be right under your feet.

And that _book! _Who in their right mind would keep something like_ that_ around? They should at least have kept it under better security—all it had taken was Monster’s help for you to find it.

You hard-gulped as your gaze strayed to the darkened mirror. What if they found out? What if they already knew? What if they were just biding their time and Bucky was already in danger—

“Ah, good. You’re here.”

The voice spoke from just over your shoulder; you let out a silent puff of air and whirled around, banging your hip painfully against the desk.

He stood behind you, face obscured in shadows by the light cast by the window behind him. All you could make out was his silhouette until he stepped forward and your eyes adjusted. The man appraising you was the same wizard you had seen stride through the fiery portal in your living room. He looked just as ridiculous now as he did then: deep blue robes with a majestic cape that could have given any Vegas magician a run for their money.

You had a feeling his absurd costume belayed a real danger underneath—you knew better than to assume these people were safe, not after what you’d discovered. You took a cautionary step back, putting the large desk between yourself and the man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

He raised a brow and studied your face for a long moment before speaking.

“I believe a conversation would go much smoother if both parties could speak, yes?” With a fanciful flourish of his hand, you felt the cloth around your neck loosen and disappear.

Never taking your eyes from the wizard, you raised a hand to your neck and made sure the strip of cloth was completely gone.

“That’s better,” he said, a brief smile touching his lips. “I assume Sergeant Barnes has told you who I am, but let us assume he hasn’t. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange, and of course, I know who you are.”

This last was said with a curious quirk to his mouth, one you weren’t sure you cared for.

“Oh?” you managed to croak, your throat raspy and uncomfortably tight, but you were speaking again and that was surely something. Now, you just needed to figure out what this man wanted, and how much he knew about your complicated situation with Bucky.

“Yes,” he said with a curious tilt to his head. “The girl with the portals.”

You swallowed reflexively, more from his statement than the condition of your throat.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The wizard’s brows rose even higher, and you could have sworn the hem of his cape swayed. There was no draft in the room.

“The girl with the portals,” he repeated patiently. “We are aware of how Sergeant Barnes was able to return to this plane of existence and how you had a hand in it. It’s all right, you’re not in trouble,” he added with what he probably thought was a sympathetic look.

You weren’t sure you believed him, not that it really mattered. You were within their power, and as long as that was true, you needed to play it smart.

You wet your chapped lips and thought carefully about your next words.

“I don’t remember,” you said honestly. “Any of it. I didn’t even know about demons until Bucky stopped the _Alp_.”

Strange slightly tilted his head as he walked slowly forward, his feet carrying him around the edge of the desk. When you took a step back, he stopped, his eyes never leaving your face.

You suddenly had the impression of being a bacterium under a microscope.

“Yes,” Strange said, “that particular demon was one of those who came through the portal you unintentionally opened. Sergeant Barnes caused you to forget that first encounter. It is curious he allowed you to remember the second.”

Your heart jumped in your chest, but all you gave him was a defensive shrug.

“You’d have to ask him. I didn’t even know magic was real until two months ago—“

“And yet,” he interrupted with a raised finger, “you managed to open a portal to the demon realm. Something that only the Masters can do.”

You gave another quick shrug, though his one was more a flinch as your shoulders hunched in a protective gesture.

“I told you, I don’t remember. Maybe someone else opened it—“

“Perhaps,” he interrupted again. “Perhaps that would even be the most likely scenario, if it wasn’t for the fact you are also in possession of a hobgoblin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again.

“What, you mean _Monster?”_ When he didn’t answer, only continued to peer into you as if he could see into your very soul, you sputtered out, “I thought he was just a _cat!_ I had no idea he was a—“

“Then you will agree that the average person does not keep hobgoblins in their homes, nor are they attacked by demons on a semi-regular basis.”

After being interrupted for a third time, you had to fight to control the expression on your face. Powerful wizard or not, this guy was a _dick._

“Look,” you snapped, “all I know is, my life was normal until two months ago. Or, as far as I knew, my life was normal. These things happened_ to me._ I didn’t want it and I sure as hell didn’t ask for it, and if you think I’m somehow responsible for this shitstorm, then just come out and say so.”

By the time you were done, your heart was racing in your chest and you were breathing harder than usual. You expected the wizard to take offense, but instead… he was very faintly smiling.

“I can see now why Sergeant Barnes has taken a liking to you.”

Those words cooled your anger faster than if you’d been doused in the face with cold water. Nerves roiled in your stomach and you prayed it didn’t show on your face.

The amused expression vanished from Strange’s visage, quickly replaced by a grim tightening of his jaw.

“I apologize if I’ve insinuated that you are anything but a victim in this situation. You have done nothing to deserve these attacks, and I am grateful that Sergeant Barnes was there to prevent disaster. However.” He held up a finger again in a way that reminded you of being lectured by a teacher in school. “These sorts of circumstances do not typically happen to ordinary human beings. I am pointing out the oddities in your life, not to lay blame at your feet, but to shed light onto why these events might possibly be occurring.”

You had nothing to say to that, a stone sinking dreadfully into the pit of your stomach. Strange continued on, pulling his hands behind his back as he slowly paced the room in front of you.

“A handful of demons came through that original portal. Most of them have been tracked down and killed over the years, a great number of them by Sergeant Barnes himself. They have, as far as we can tell, never strayed far from your vicinity for any great length of time. Perhaps because you were the one who summoned them, or perhaps because you were the first human they laid eyes on. We cannot say for sure. What we now know for certain is that you have been a target for many years, and it was our intention to make sure this danger never touched your life. The fact it has, multiple times, is a failure on our part, not yours.”

You blinked in surprise at the wizard’s sudden turn around, but his next words snatched away the fleeting feeling of comfort.

“However, the fact remains that you were most likely able to open a complicated trans-dimensional portal, at a young age, without training or guidance. This demonic fixation on your person would be alarming enough without that complication added to the mix.”

You were about to open your mouth to argue for the hundredth time that _you couldn’t remember _when he interrupted you once again.

“Therefore, it is my recommendation that you remain within the Sanctum for the time being. We shall monitor you, observe you, and conduct tests that will determine the extent of your abilities.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him, rooted to the spot in disbelief.

“I’m sorry. You’re… _keeping_ me here?”

“Yes,” he said very slowly, as if your confusion was due to him speaking too quickly. “It’s for your own safety, as well as the safety of those around you.”

“But,” you objected, “you can’t do that! I have a life! A job, and a family, and—and I haven’t even called my mom yet, she has no way to reach me because my phone broke, and—you can’t _keep me here!”_

The wizard harbored your protests with an increasingly unamused expression, actually sighing after you had finished speaking.

“I can, actually. If you have magical potential, which I have every reason to believe you do, then you fall under my responsibility and my purview. You present a danger by being in the world untrained, exposed to all sorts of magical malice you cannot hope to defend yourself against.”

“I was doing _just fine_ until—“ You cut yourself off, dangerously close to confessing something you shouldn’t, namely Bucky’s first feeding.

Strange peered at you closely. You swallowed as the first hint of fear trickled down your spine.

“Until?” he inquired in a soft tone you didn’t trust.

“Until the _Alp_ showed up,” you answered with instead. It wasn’t a total lie; in fact, it was technically true, from a certain perspective. “And—and then the thing with Davin, but I was_ fine_ before that.”

“Because of Sergeant Barnes,” Strange mused, stroking his goatee in a way that reminded you of a scheming villain. “I had no idea he was keeping such close tabs on you still, but it was fortunate for you he was. Still, he cannot be there for every hour of the day, and we can provide much better protection for you here should you become the focus of another demonic entity.”

You were already shaking your head, retreating from the caped sorcerer. You knew the door was to your back somewhere, but the chances of escaping were slim.

“I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and for Davin, even if I don’t… don’t really understand it all,” you said with a wince, also recalling the creepy and terrifying room you had found. “But I am _not _staying here.”

Strange released a heavy sigh, drawing your attention back to his taut expression.

“Yes,” he said, dark eyes staring straight through you. “You are.”

A bolt of fear shot through you as strong as if you’d been hit with a stun gun and your throat tightened as your heart thrummed in your chest.

_He’s going to keep me here and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m trapped. There’s no way out. What am I going to **do?**_

When you thought the rising panic was going to force your heart to explode from within your ribcage, a loud crash came from behind you. You jumped back, flinching hard, and the door burst from its hinges to reveal a dark-eyed, scowling, _very _unhappy Bucky Barnes.

His guise was fully formed, making him appear human at first glance, but one look in his eyes and you sensed the raw fury he was struggling to hold back as he glared murder at the wizard.

Strange, for his part, merely pressed his lips together in a deep frown. The bald sorcerer quickly followed at Bucky’s heels, looking more annoyed than fearful as he said, “Barnes, I told you, you can’t go in there!”

Bucky didn’t respond, instead raking his eyes over the room until he honed in on you standing next to Strange’s desk. You were pinned to the spot by that heated glare, but instead of fear, it filled you with an instant, palpable relief. It felt as if a tightly coiled spring in your chest had been unwound and you remembered how to breathe again.

At the same time your panic began to recede, Bucky’s steely gaze softened. It was so gradual and imperceptible you suspected no one saw it but you. The sickening feeling in your stomach was replaced with the warm fluttering of a different kind, and your heart leapt in something akin to joy.

You knew, without a doubt, you were safe now.

Bucky’s gaze lifted from your face, slowly as if he was reluctant to look away, and he fixed his unforgiving stare back on the leader of the magicians.

“It’s all right, Wong,” the wizard said, eyeing Bucky coolly. “If I truly wished to keep Sergeant Barnes out, he would never have made it past the threshold.”

“She’s not staying here,” Bucky said, as if Strange hadn’t spoken.

Where most men would have cowered from the growl in his words, Strange simply gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Respectfully, Sergeant, you don’t get a say in the matter. This is an internal affair.”

“And I am saying to you, _respectfully,_ that you’re wrong and out of line to try and keep her locked up,” Bucky seethed between his teeth.

“I am not locking her up.” Strange folded his arms as he glared at the demon before him. “I am taking precautions, something I would think you would appreciate considering how much effort you put into protecting this human.”

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenched, as did his fist at his side.

“You’re right. I have been protecting her. For _years_,” he emphasized with a curl of his lip. “Which means I know her situation much better than you do. I’ve been watching her since I first came back. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed a magic-user right under my nose?”

Bucky scoffed, giving Strange a vaguely disgusted look that almost surprised you. “Give me a little credit. I can feel your kind of magic crawling over my skin every time I walk into this goddamn place, so you really think I wouldn’t _immediately_ sense if she was one of you?”

“Be careful, Sergeant,” Strange said in a low tone. “Be very, very careful.”

You didn’t understand the source of the warning but there was no denying the sudden, hair-raising tension that filled the room. The sorcerer’s kept their expressions blank but ready for something, and Bucky…

Bucky looked downright menacing, his lips pulled back into a silent snarl over his bared teeth as his brow carried a storm on it. His eyes were dark, sharp with danger, and you could almost sense the wings that were likely arched above his back.

After several seconds of the unbearable standoff, Bucky was the first to fold, loosening the hunch of his shoulders and casting down his eyes as he pressed his lips together.

“All I meant,” Bucky said, his eyes slightly wandering in your direction, “was that we don’t know where the portal came from or how it was created. It could have been for any number of reasons, including just… randomly appearing. It’s happened before, tears in the fabric of reality.

“Just because you were the closest to it,” he raised his eyes to meet your gaze, “doesn’t mean you’re responsible. And you shouldn’t be punished for it.”

You somehow managed to hold his heavy gaze, your heart hammering away in your chest at a frantic pace and the unmistakable warmth of a blush spread over your cheeks. You broke contact and looked away, having to remind yourself there_ were _other people in the room.

“It’s not a punishment,” Strange interjected with a heavy sigh. “It’s a precaution. But… I do see your point, Sergeant.”

You blinked and looked up, eyeing the sorcerer but not daring to hope. He appraised you in turn, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

“Perhaps we can reach a compromise,” he offered, tapping a finger against his chin.

“Okay.” Suspicion lay heavy on your heart. The last thing you needed was to be trapped in a wizard’s bargain. “Like what?”

Bucky had also turned his gaze on Strange, waiting with an air of someone holding his breath.

“If I could conduct certain tests, verify for myself that you have no magical potential, then I would feel confident in letting you leave the Sanctum—on the condition,” he held up his finger, “that Sergeant Barnes continues to act as your protector from afar.”

You thought it sounded like a good deal—maybe even a great deal, considering you had all the magic potential of a rock—but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“_No tests_,” he seethed between his teeth. “You’re not putting her through _that_.”

To your surprise, Strange offered Bucky an almost sympathetic look.

“Tests for magical potential are far different than ones that observe demonic abilities. Your experiences… will not be the same.”

A sort of curiosity blossomed alongside your horror at the implications of his words. What exactly had they done to Bucky? And why? Just another of the thousands of questions you had about these people.

“Ultimately,” Strange said with a grim expression as his gaze fixed on you, “the choice is yours. You can either undergo our painless, non-invasive testing, or… you can stay until we deem it safe to release you.”

_For an indeterminate amount of time_ was the implicated statement.

You looked back to Bucky, silently pleading with him. You didn’t care about these tests, whatever it would take to get you the hell out of there so you could finally get away from the wizards and tell Bucky what you had found hidden in the dungeon.

It was either a testament to your unwanted demon-human bond, or your ability to read Bucky’s face, that you knew he was trying to silently plead with you in return. He didn’t want you to take these tests, and for a moment, you couldn’t figure out why, until a pulse of warmth spread over the mark on your shoulder. A reminder of what you would have to do in the next few days.

Bucky was worried they would discover the bond.

_Shit._

“Is there any other way?” Bucky asked, turning back to the head wizard. “Or can we just… forget about it altogether? What are the chances that someone powerful enough to create a portal to the demon realm has been living in New York this entire time with none of us knowing? You have to admit how unlikely it is.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Strange admonished him with a raise of his elegant brow. “Your very existence is a testament to that, Sergeant.”

Bucky’s mouth pressed into an unhappy frown but Strange didn’t back down, and they once against entered into a silent battle of wills.

The antagonism between the wizard and Bucky was not what sent a chill down your spine. It was the other one. Wong, the one who had been keeping an eye on you, as he was doing right at that moment. As the other two stared each other down, Wong’s attention was solely focused on you.

The hairs stirred on the back of your neck as if by an electrifying current, and you suspected this man had been watching you closely throughout the entire conversation. You were afraid that, unlike Strange, this wizard might _actually _figure out how deep your connection with Bucky ran.

As oddly sweet as it was, if Bucky kept trying to defend and protect you at every turn, they were going to discover the bond, and if that happened…

…you might end up as a permanent fixture in that macabre trophy room.

“I’ll do it,” you blurted out.

Your words were louder than you meant them to be in the silent room, and you winced. The wince turned into a flinch as demon and wizard both turned their heads to stare at you.

“I’ll take your tests.” You took a steadying breath, trying not to wither under the weight of their collective gazes. “I just want to go home and… and put this behind me.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, tired and with a hint of fear. You were exhausted, but you were also exhausted of _being afraid_. All you wanted to do was take Monster, go back to your apartment, and crawl into bed to sleep for a week.

And if you heard the word _demon _ever again, it would be too goddamn soon.

Bucky’s expression was quick, just a fleeting glimpse, but it was a pained look of deep conflict. And then it was gone, covered by his usual, vague frown.

“Excellent,” Strange said, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together as if someone had announced dessert was being served in the dining room. “It shouldn’t take long, perhaps an hour or two, varying on the conclusions we find.”

Your heart weighed heavy with dread, but then Strange added, “If all appears normal, that is to say, you’re a non-magical entity, then we will be ready to perform your friend’s exorcism and you can both go home.”

Your mouth slightly dropped open.

“Davin? You… you mean Davin?”

“Yes,” Strange said with a nod. “He is strong enough for the demonic parasite to be removed. Once we’re assured he handles the procedure well, he is free to leave. As are you.”

A swirl of confusing emotions. Joy, apprehension, anticipation, worry. You were happy to know Davin should be okay, but you were more than a little terrified to think about what he knew. What he remembered. Would he know what he had done to you, or would it be as blurry as a dream?

_Oh, God,_ you thought with a flash of horror. _Will he remember the mark and what the demon said?_

When you turned your gaze to Bucky, his expression made your heart stutter. There was concern there, softening his eyes in a way that could make you forget your own name, but there was also a lingering sadness you didn’t understand.

“I want to see it,” you said without thinking. “The exorcism.”

Bucky spoke your name, gently but with a slight shake of his head.

“It’s an unpleasant ritual to witness,” Wong spoke up, brows creased. “Not many wish to see it, and even fewer stay for the entire session.”

“It’s what I want,” you proclaimed with more firmness this time. “I want to be there when it happens.”

Bucky parted his lips but you interrupted him; you didn’t want to hear his protests, and also, the less you two communicated in front of the wizards, the safer.

“This thing tried to kill me. I want to see it. I need to know that it’s gone.” You met Bucky’s eye as you said this. It was_ his_ understanding you wanted.

“Hmm, yes. About that,” Strange mused while rubbing his chin. “Why did it try to kill you? That species of demon tends not to kill, as it needs hosts to live. So why did it attack you with such ferocity?”

You chewed your lip as you unwillingly recalled the attacked, Davin’s hands gripping you painfully tight as his mouth expanded to reveal a living nightmare. You shivered.

“I don’t know.” You averted your eyes and prayed they would take your reluctance as fear rather than you attempting to lie again. “He seemed… angry. Said things that didn’t make sense.”

“Such as?”

You winced. It seemed Strange wasn’t letting it go that easily.

“Well,” you fidgeted, feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes. “I don’t really know. Something about… he’d been waiting for this a long time. And then he, you know… tried to… infect me, I guess.”

You rubbed your throat at the memory, your apprehension not an act in the slightest.

“Go on,” Wong prompted, not ungently. You were grateful for that.

“And then he just… stopped. Yanked out that appendage, or whatever, and it hurt so badly. I think I was going into shock. He was just so angry… and he tried to…”

You closed your eyes, fighting down the bile in your throat as you remembered all too well the feel of his arm around your neck.

_Get it together,_ you berated yourself._ Don’t fucking cry in front of the wizards._

Like a prayer answered, you heard Bucky’s voice from behind the darkness of your eyelids.

“And then I knocked him unconscious, as I’ve said repeatedly.” He gave a disgusted scoff. “It’s a goddamn demon. Does it really need a reason to hurt someone?”

You opened your eyes, chest stinging as you stared at him. He truly thought he was just as bad as the heigore. It was all too obvious from the self-loathing dripping from his words.

“Very well,” Strange said, turning to the other wizard as he frowned slightly. “Until we complete the tests, I have no further questions. Do you?”

Wong flicked his gaze in your direction. “No. Not at this time.”

“Then I see no reason not to start immediately.” Strange turned toward a display case nearby where all sorts of strange instruments lay behind the glass.

You swallowed thickly, shooting Bucky a nervous glance. He looked about as enthusiastic as you felt, the muscles in his jaw flexing as his eyes shone with sharp concern.

“Now?” you asked meekly.

“Yes. Now.” The wizard turned toward you, holding what looked like a complicated spindle with sharp, golden points. Your stomach did impressive flip-flops and warning bells went off in your head.

“Hold out your hand,” Strange instructed as he walked toward you, slowly and deliberate. “And whatever you do…

“…remain very, very still.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the way I write Strange, I really do like him. It's just too fun to make him an ass.
> 
> I am currently running a [writing challenge](https://trashmenofmarvel.tumblr.com/post/190805380717/its-finally-happened-i-hit-2000-followers-now) on my Marvel blog! The rules are very lax in hopes that it will encourage new writers to participate. I hope to see some of your entries and I'm excited to support other fans in this community.


	14. Dormant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange finishes his tests, and you reunite with Davin.
> 
> All seems well, so why is Bucky so clearly avoiding your eye?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Body horror, spooky scary demons, angst, Bucky making me sad

You waited for the verdict on metaphorical pins and needles._ Literal_ pins and needles had been involved in the wizard’s “tests.”

They hadn’t even broken the skin or made you bleed, but every time they’d neared you, you’d fought the urge to bolt like a deer.

You were bad—Bucky had been worse. Strange had asked on more than one occasion if he needed to leave the room, and each time Bucky had gritted out an emphatic _no_ while pacing the room like a restless predator. Not one that was hunting you, the proverbial deer, but his presence was still distracting for… well, quite a number of reasons.

Two hours. Two hours of being instructed to peer through strange spectacles, focus your mind on irregular shaped stones, or lay your hand on a metal orb that made your palm tingle. It was a sensation that threw your thoughts back to the creepy book in the basement. Your skin crawled.

_Please,_ you silently prayed to whoever would hear you. _Please don’t let them find anything. Especially not the mark. Anything but that._

Once Strange appeared to finish his tests, most of which had been more tedious than uncomfortable, he leaned a hip against his desk and rubbed his goatee, lost in thought.

You couldn’t wait any longer.

_“Well?”_

“Hmm?” He raised his head, the distance in his eyes honing into a focused stare.

“Are you done?” You tried not to fidget as you asked. Failed.

He blinked, as if remembering you were there.

“Oh, yes. Quite finished. You’re perfectly ordinary.”

He spoke the words with a casual cadence as if reciting the weather. _Ordinary skies today, no chance of thunderstorms or magical potential._

“I’m normal,” you repeated like the world’s slowest parrot.

“In a magical sense, yes. I can’t speak in terms of your personal situation, but as far as I can tell, you are energetically inert.”

You didn’t know what the hell that meant, but it sounded a lot better than _portal-wielding-demon-magnet._ You weren’t disappointed. You weren’t. A selfish part of you hadn’t wanted your own _you’re a wizard, Harry_ moment. Not at all.

You chanced a quick glance upwards and to your right. Bucky was standing next to your chair, his arms crossed and his lips formed into a slight pout as he stared at Strange. He didn’t seem at all relieved by the good news.

“Does that mean I can go?” you asked, sitting straighter in your chair.

“Yes.” Strange’s tone was even but his expression was oddly closed. “You can depart whenever you wish.”

You rose to your feet, ready to not spend a minute more in that place when the door to his office opened without a knock. Wong stood on the threshold, his frown grave. Unhelpful to use as a gauge, given that you suspected it was his default expression.

“We’re ready.”

“Excellent.” Strange pushed himself up from the desk, straightened the collar of his cape, and made a motion toward the door. “I assume you still wish to watch the ritual?”

Oh. Right. You’d completely forgotten about Davin. Guilt wiggled through your stomach like a worm through a rotten apple.

“Yeah. Yes, I mean. I do.”

He made the same motion toward the door and you followed it, your fists stiff at your side as you followed Wong out into the hallway. You could breathe a little easier now, knowing you would no longer be trapped as a long-term “guest,” but you wouldn’t truly shake off the feeling of dread until you had stepped back out onto the street. Or hell, better yet, back in your apartment.

The wizards may have helped you, and Bucky seemed to be allied with them, but that didn’t mean you trusted them. Plus, you really had meant it when you’d said you had a life to get back to. Being a captive in a magician’s place in Greenwich Village was not your idea of a relaxing holiday.

You had to go home and find out how much trouble you were in with the landlord; you hadn’t even begun to think about Davin and the thing inside of him—

A warm presence at your back scattered your anxious thoughts and the tension in your muscles began to leech away. Bucky was close behind you. You didn’t even have to look to know it was true, no more than you needed to open your eyes to recognize the warmth of the sun on your face.

You wished you could talk to him, but more than anything else, you wanted him to hold you again. Wrap his arms around you and murmur reassurances into your hair, telling you everything would be all right even if it wasn’t true.

Your wish went depressingly unfulfilled as Wong led you to a thick door made of iron. Remembering the last dungeon-like door you had walked through, your knees locked and your feet remained solidly on the floor. Bucky’s solid weight bumped into you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, in all appearances meant to steady you, but his fingers gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

A small gesture, too tiny for anyone else to see, meant only for you. It gave you the courage to walk through the door.

The room beyond was as grim as you’d fear it would be. There were no electronics or modern equipment that you could see. Instead, there were braziers along the walls, candelabras hanging from the ceiling, and glyphs carved into the walls.

What awaited you in the middle of the room made the surroundings seem like a cheery garden party. A grey stone slab, roughly at hip-height and seven feet in length, dominated the space. Davin lay upon its surface, thick straps across his shins, thighs, hips, and chest holding him in place. His wrists were bound by a second set of straps that were tied to the restraints across his waist.

He was focused on the wizards as they filed into the room, but once you were within sight of the altar, his gaze fixated immediately on your face. His brows furrowed as his eyes blazed into a hateful glare, his arms flexing as he struggled against his unyielding restraints.

There was no noise aside from the sound of leather chaffing against skin and clothing. Not even muffled protests arose from behind the cloth covering his mouth. It looked almost like a surgeon’s mask, a deep red color with a golden glyph drawn across its surface.

There was only you, Bucky, and the two wizards in the room. That made you feel slightly better. You weren’t sure if you could handle a whole gathering of hooded figures, looming over your coworker as if he was a sacrificial lamb about to be offered up to a vengeful deity.

You half expected daggers to be wielded, glowing with ritualistic glyphs, but the wizards’ hands remained empty. You suspected that didn’t mean much.

Strange stood at Davin’s head while Wong took up position to the right. Bucky was at your side, apparently not needing to take part in the exorcism, which began with the wizards making intricate shapes over the slab with their hands. Concentric orange circles formed in the air, filling the space with their unnatural luminescence.

Davin, or rather, the demon inside him, bucked against the straps, violently tossing his head in silent protest. The wizards paid him no mind, the shapes in the air growing brighter as the smell of ozone thickened the air and made it hard to take a full breath.

Strange and Wong weren’t paying you any attention either, too distracted to notice as Bucky slipped his arm around your waist, tucking you securely against his side. His eyes remained forward, the muscles in his jaw clenched and thrown into relief from the orange light painting his features, but his hold was firm and unrelenting.

Too afraid the wizards would see you wrap your own arm around him, you instead pressed your hand into the edge of his jacket, fisting the material tightly. He was the only thing grounding you in such a surreal, terrifying moment, and you couldn’t begin to imagine getting through this without his steady presence.

The exorcism itself, thank Christ, was short. Or, relatively short. It lasted maybe thirty seconds to a minute at most, but having to watch Davin silently squirm and writhe tied to a stone slab made the experience seem much, much longer.

“Ready?” Strange had his hands poised, one above Davin’s forehead and the other above his heart, the vibrant orange glyphs floating in front of his fingertips.

“Ready,” Wong answered. His own glyphs vanished as he picked up a jar you hadn’t noticed from the floor. Moving as if he was about to handle a live wire, Wong grabbed one end of the mask and quickly pulled it from Davin’s face.

The sound that erupted from his mouth was shrill, high-pitched, and inhuman, quickly cut off as Wong placed the opening of the jar over his mouth.

Davin’s body gave one final lurch, his back arching as something was expelled from his mouth. A long, segmented yellow appendage you now recognized as the heigore. It was pulled up into the jar as if it was reverse-gravity, coiling at the top just as neatly as a pile of especially ugly rope.

The end of the heigore barely passed the lip of the jar before Wong pulled it from Davin’s face and covered the opening with another glowing glyph. He wiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead, and Strange looked similarly tired as he let the concentric circles sizzle from his fingertips.

It was over.

Or… nearly over. Bucky removed his arm from around your waist and you immediately let go of his jacket. Biting your lip in nervous habit, you watched as Wong approached him with the jar.

“All yours,” Wong said, holding it out to him. Curious, you walked slowly forward, watching in sudden alarm as Wong waved away the glyphs.

Sensing its freedom, the heigore launched itself from the jar—right into Bucky’s iron grip. His demonic fist had a stranglehold around the parasite, pulling its entire body from the jar with one swift movement.

It was a pathetic sight within Bucky’s serrated grasp. A thorny, overgrown parasite only two feet in length. That’s all it really was outside of a host. A helpless tapeworm.

It coiled around Bucky’s forearm like a snake, squeezing uselessly at the armored plates. Its thorny surface puffed up, blades unsheathing from the thorns, and you clutched at your throat reflexively. You knew exactly what those blades felt like tearing into human flesh.

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, his eyes hard as he glared down at the creature, one corner of his lip pulled back in a grimace of disgust.

And then, he began to squeeze. You couldn’t look away, morbidly fascinated as the demon sensed the danger it was in, uncoiling from Bucky’s arm to try and escape. It flailed and writhed, twitching in the air, but there was no escape. Not from that iron grip. Those claws, a moment ago gently pressing into your side, now dug into the demon with murderous intent.

The heigore gave one last shudder, a tremble rippling throughout its sinuous length before it began to _burn._ Like a fuse being ignited from both ends, its head and tail caught flame, the heat blazing through it so quickly it was over within seconds. The flaming parasite collapsed into ash and fizzled into black smoke, flooding the room with a sickening, familiar stench.

_Your bedroom. That night. A flash, a screech, and the smell of sulfur._ You understood what it was now: Bucky, banishing other demons to wherever it was they came from.

There were so many questions you still needed answering, but all of your curiosity died as you looked to the stone slab.

Davin, eyes wide and alert and terrified, had watched the whole thing. It was that lucid panic on his face, the knowledge that there was no doubt this was _Davin_, made you finally move.

“You shouldn’t—“

Whatever Strange was going to say was lost as you rushed forward to the stone slab, your hands gripping the edge as you spoke his name in a tight voice.

_“Davin?”_

He swallowed and nodded, his voice painfully hoarse. “Is it… is it gone? Really gone?”

He was still strapped tight to the surface, but there was enough room for you to slip your hand through the restraints, curling your palm around his clenched fist.

“It’s gone,” you affirmed, squeezing his hand. “It’s over.”

It didn’t matter what the heigore had made him do to you. It didn’t matter that you’d never been that close. Right now, he was a human being caught up in the terrifying world of magic and demons, and you knew what a terrifying thing that was.

His bottom lip trembled, his eyes glassy as he seemed on the verge of breaking. You tried to open his clenched fist with a measured gentleness, and he allowed your fingers to slip through. You squeezed his hand and the haunted look in his eyes wasn’t as present as it had been a moment before. You even thought you saw relief there.

Someone cleared their throat and you looked over your shoulder to find three pairs of eyes staring at you. Strange wore a small but genuine smile. Wong’s raised eyebrows had made a reappearance.

And Bucky… wouldn’t even meet your eye.

A sensation sunk in your chest, like someone had pulled the plug and something warm and vital was draining out.

“I’m sure you’re eager to put this business behind you,” Strange said, stepping forward. With a flick of his wrist, the restraints all unbuckled at once, leaving Davin free to sit up. He did so, slowly and carefully, rubbing the base of his throat in a way that was a mirror image to your earlier gesture.

Strange nodded to Davin but his gaze also flicked to you. “We’re going to examine you one last time to make sure you are unharmed, and then… you may both go home.”

You blinked. _Already?_ Now that the moment was here, you felt strangely… unsteady. Like you weren’t on solid ground anymore. How were you supposed to move on with your life after this?

_One step at a time._ And the first step was you leaving the room, guided by Wong as he explained they needed privacy. _They_ being Davin, Strange, and Bucky, though you couldn’t imagine what he had to do with the examination. Maybe he needed to check no trace of the demon remained. All things considered, there was still so much you didn’t know about Bucky.

You planned to rectify that as soon as possible. It was long overdue.

The examination was only a few minutes, during which time you lingered at the bottom of a staircase. This area of the sanctum was much more somber, dark wood and faded teal wallpaper and carpets. The top of the grand staircase split in two, leading around the tall antechamber deeper into the sanctum.

Beyond the front of the staircase were two large doors that you just knew led to the outside world.

_Freedom._ So close, yet still out of reach.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jerked away from the aged bronze structure you’d been leaning against, shooting Wong a guilty look. Before you could apologize, footsteps against carpet runners drew your attention to the staircase, your eye lightening when your gaze fell on Bucky.

The tension around his eyes and the grim set of his mouth halted your smile before it could form. Davin stood next to him once they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face pale as his gaze kept flickering from the floor to Bucky.

Before you could even begin to figure out what was going on _there,_ Strange said, “All appears to be well.” He seemed to be the only one of the group who wasn’t a bundle of frayed nerves. “You both are free to leave.”

“W-wait,” you stuttered, drawing the wizard’s attention. “What about my clothes? And I need to find Monster—“

“The hobgoblin will find its way home, if it’s not there already, and your clothes have been sent ahead of you.”

“Oh.” You looked to Bucky, seeking some kind of acknowledgement, but he remained silent, gaze hovering near your shoulder.

As if you weren’t feeling unsteady enough, now Bucky wouldn’t even meet your eye.

“We shall be monitoring you both, just in case there were any other demonic entities involved.” Wong peered toward Bucky, expressionless. “Sergeant Barnes will be in contact to ascertain all demonic activity has ceased, but should either of you run into anymore strange occurrences, contact us immediately.”

You turned to Wong and frowned. “But my phone was—“

The bald wizard drew out an object from his robes and held it out to you. It was your phone, pristine and whole as if the demon had never snapped it in half.

You took it with numb fingers, your thoughts equally stalled. You slipped your phone into the pocket of the robe you were still wearing, not knowing what else to say. It seemed the wizards had thought of everything.

“Shall we?”

You looked up just as Strange extended both of his hands and drew a circle with his arm. The fiery orange circle appeared in sync with his movements, the sphere large enough to step through as sparks splattered through the air, landing on the hardwood floor and skittering away.

A clear image of your living room appeared within its depths, just as pristine and unruined as your phone had been.

You looked to Strange, then Wong, and finally Bucky. Suddenly… you weren’t ready. All you’d wanted to do was go home, but now it took all of your willpower not to step back from the portal and beg them to let you stay.

If you left, if you went back to your life, then you’d have to face the consequences of everything that had happened. You’d have to acknowledge it was real.

And then you caught Davin’s eye. He was looking at the portal, the hollowness in his eyes gone as he stared with wonder and longing. You weren’t the only one to survive a harrowing experience.

“Ready?” you asked, voice pitching to a soft decibel. Davin dragged his gaze reluctantly from the portal to your face, the fiery ring reflecting in his eyes. He gave a quick nod, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Between the two of you, you’d been the most conscious during the last journey by portal. You took a step closer and tried not to flinch as sparks danced across the carpet in front of your slippers.

You assumed it was safe. _Hoped_ it was safe. Otherwise, Bucky wouldn’t let you go.

…right?

Before you stepped through, you glanced over your shoulder, searching out a pair of pale blue eyes. You found them staring back at you, hard and troubled, and they flicked between you and Davin with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint.

Before you could determine what it was, Bucky dropped his eyes again, his crossed arms tight across his chest. Everything about his body language was uncomfortable and tense, conveying a desire to be anywhere but there.

It did nothing to soothe your own anxiety but you’d already stalled too long; the two wizards were watching you expectantly. You turned back to the portal, trying not to feel like a child about to step onto a stage for the school’s talent show. Only instead of humiliation, you faced being burned by a literal ring of fire.

With an encouraging nod aimed at your coworker, you stepped forward through the magical wormhole, your slippers landing on the low pile carpet of your living room.

No burning smell flesh, no fiery pain, just a brief flush of warmth across your skin before you were on the other side.

Davin stepped through just behind you, and with a sharp fizzle, the portal closed in on itself with a last flicker of sparks.

_It’s over._ That’s what you had told Davin. It’s what you had told yourself, too.

How wrong you were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dr Strange's voice* aRe yoU seRioUsly lEaniNg oN tHe CaUldRon of tHe CoSmOs


	15. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Davin find closure, and Bucky leaves something for you to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [tumblr](url) if you want to connect and say hi.
> 
> I'll probably start making my chapter shorter so I can update more frequently. I'm also going to be posting some DBH (Detroit: Become Human) fics if you're interested. Connor's character arc reminds me a lot of Bucky's own backstory (machine!Connor and the Winter Soldier, anyone?).
> 
> If you enjoy the whumpy, angsty way I write Bucky, may I interest you in my terrible treatment of the poor android boy?

Your apartment was exactly the way you’d left it the morning before going to work.

No lamp broken in half. No cracked wall plaster. Certainly no spilled ichor staining the carpet in pools of black nightmare fuel. The wizards had set everything right, wiping all trace that a demon had ever set foot inside.

Or had ever laid hands on _you._

You couldn’t bear to look at Davin once you had returned to the scene of the crime. You didn’t blame him, not even a little bit. If anything, you were the one who felt responsible for what had happened.

“So…” You trailed off, voice flat. You had no idea what to say now that Davin was here, standing just in your peripheral vision. “Are you… okay?”

The question felt incredibly stupid once voiced. Of course he wasn’t okay.

“Yeah,” Davin answered, quiet. “Or… no. I will be, though, I think. They said there wasn’t any permanent damage…”

“That’s good.” You looked down at your shoes, the awkwardness forcing your shoulders to hunch in a protected posture. You felt like you should be doing something, be a good hostess and offer him a glass of water. Something to break up the tense silence weighing heavily on your head.

“I’m sorry.”

You raised your head, blinking as you finally met his gaze. Or tried to. Davin wasn’t looking in your direction, his eyes unwavering on the spot in front of the couch where he had… where the demon had tried to strangle you.

“Davin…” A sigh punctuated his name. “It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded immediately, as if knowing what you were going to say. “They were my hands that… that did it. I-I was awake the whole time. I felt it happening, felt you struggling. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. I tried.”

You took a step towards him, wanting to reach out but instead letting your hand hang limp. This was exactly what you’d been afraid of. Him remembering.

“Davin. Look at me.”

Reluctant, he turned to face you, green eyes haggard as he frowned unhappily.

“This isn’t your fault. If anyone shares the blame, it’s me.” You took a steadying breath, attempting to sort your thoughts into words that would make him understand. “I don’t know how much you know or what the wizards told you, but that thing _used _you to get to me. You’re a victim.”

His gaze hardened as his frown deepened. “So are you. I wasn’t the only one with my choices taken away, and I’m not talking about that thing that controlled me, either. I’m talking about the _other_ one.”

“What?”

Sweat beaded on your forehead and you wiped your palms on the silky fabric of your robes.

“What do you mean?”

“The other demon. Bucky. That’s his name, right?” His eyes narrowed at your lack of response.

You hurried to say something, anything, your bumbling words tripping over themselves.

“I… yes, but, what does he have to do with… with anything?”

Your heart was thudding in your chest like a spooked rabbit. You were scared shitless but your panic-stricken brain couldn’t pinpoint why—not until Davin said the words you’d been unconsciously dreading the most.

“Remember how I said I was aware? I was trapped in my own mind like a prison, but I could still hear Yaegore’s thoughts. That’s what he called himself,” he explained seeing the confusion on your face. “That mark on your shoulder? He knew what it was and what it meant, and I heard it all. He wasn’t really… quiet in my head.”

All you could do was stare, words trapped in your throat as you tried to imagine the horror of being a prisoner in your own body.

Well, okay, maybe you could sympathize a little, but nothing to this extent. And if Davin thought your situations were even_ close_ to being similar—

“But anyway, the point is, Yaegore knew you were bound to another demon. It’s why he couldn’t make you his new host. He was pissed, I mean _really _pissed, and he… he made me hurt you. But it was more than that; he also wanted to force the other demon to reveal itself. And it did, but we—he couldn’t see it before I blacked out.”

The memories rose in your mind without your approval: Bucky’s armored arm snaking around Davin’s throat, pinning him across his chest as his struggles grew weaker. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Bucky’s face, you were sure of it, so why did he—

“While I was recovering, or…” He gave a humorless smile, “that’s what those people called it when they left me tied to a gurney. Had me hooked up to IVs and made me drink weird stuff. But I couldn’t—Yaegore couldn’t talk. They kept that mask covering my mouth, so he couldn’t escape, I guess.”

Davin rubbed the back of his neck, nails scratching into his short blond hair as he winced.

“He wouldn’t stop yelling. It was… bad. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me—I’m trying to explain. He was _scared._ He knew they were going to find a way to get him out of me. But all of that fear vanished when he saw _that _demon. He was pissed. Because he knew this was the demon he’d been trying to draw out.”

“You…” You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Bucky went to see you?”

Davin nodded gravely, brows pulled into deep furrows.

“He… he spoke to me. Not to Yaegore. To _me_. He said…” Now it was Davin’s turn to look nervous, licking his chapped lips. “He didn’t threaten me, exactly, but he definitely made it clear I couldn’t tell the wizard’s the truth when I was finally free. He said if they knew about the demon pact, they would keep you there indefinitely.”

His next words were soft and unsteady as he said, “I couldn’t do that to you. So I stayed quiet.”

The air evaporated from your lungs as if you’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

Bucky _knew._ He _knew_ about the bond and hadn’t said anything!

You didn’t know what was worse—that he had lied to you or that he had made Davin lie, too. You hadn’t even known Bucky had gone to see Davin, let alone spoken to him.

_What else is he not telling me?_

Davin took a step towards you with a grave expression, and you tried to focus your attention on him even as your thoughts twirled in a maelstrom of denial and shock.

“I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “I need you to tell me if you’re in danger.”

Danger? What was he talking about? The heigore was gone, why would he think—

“Did he force you into this?” His head tilted as he studied your face. “Are you under his control? I don’t really understand how it works, but Yaegore was pretty freaked out, and he was an asshole.”

You found yourself unable to speak once again. The idea of you being in danger from Bucky was too ludicrous, too impossible for you to even counter.

Davin gave you a sympathetic look and dug into his pocket.

“That wizard, Strange, he put the Sanctum’s number into my phone. I can call them right now if you need me to—“

“No!” You put your hand on his, curling around the phone he had clutched in his palm. “No, don’t.”

He said your name, kindly but with a steely firmness.

“I’m not scared,” he asserted. “If this is what it takes, I’m more than happy to do it. I figure, after dealing with Yaegore bitching in my head for the past two months, this other demon can’t do much worse.”

You were pretty sure he was wrong about that, not that Bucky would ever hurt Davin. But… you also knew Bucky wouldn’t react well if Davin wanted to expose your secret to the wizards.

“Davin, I appreciate it, really.” You didn’t let go of his hand, or his phone. Couldn’t take the risk he wouldn’t listen. “But it’s not like that.”

_Are you sure?_ a tiny voice asked, insidious. _Are you really sure?_

“So… he doesn’t force you to have sex with him?” Davin’s voice was flat, inflectionless, but the sadness in his eyes made you drop your gaze. The hot-sick feeling of shame crept up the back of your neck, and you wished the ground would open and swallow you whole.

But it didn’t. So you had to speak.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” you said, the words tight in your throat. “Neither of us does. It just… happened, and neither of us wanted it.”

You lifted your head and met his eye. “We’re trying to figure it out on our own for now, so I need you to not say anything, all right? Will you do that for me?”

You knew it was unfair to ask, and it was more than Davin deserved on his plate, but you were terrified if the wizards found out. Davin had to continue to maintain the secret. Keep the lie intact. For your sake, if not for Bucky’s. You didn’t want to end up strapped to a gurney for the rest of your life. If they had done that to Davin, whose situation had been fixable, you didn’t want to think what they would do to you.

And you couldn’t bear to think about Bucky ending up in the wizard’s dungeon. Even if he was lying to you, keeping his own secrets, that didn’t mean he deserved to be tortured, and—and hung up on the wall like a grisly trophy.

Davin lowered his hand and you released it, exhaling in relief as he placed the phone back into his pocket.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked softly. “Anything at all?”

His words were unfairly kind and you knew you didn’t deserve them. Not after everything he had been put through. Still, despite all of that, Davin still wanted to help you.

Once upon a time, you’d had feelings for him. It was a relief to know that you hadn’t been wrong to have them, that you hadn’t misjudged him and that the last two months of creepy behavior hadn’t been Davin at all.

Before you realized what you were doing, your arms were around his neck and you were hugging him tightly, pressing your face into his shoulder as you squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Being so close to him, you couldn’t help but think about Bucky. How long it had taken him to wrap his arms around you, hesitant and almost shy. Davin didn’t take nearly as long; he pulled his arms around your ribcage and hugged back, as comfortable as if you did this kind of thing all the time.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m just glad you’re okay. That we’re both okay.”

You nodded but didn’t speak, afraid if you did your voice would be unsteady. Your eyes stinging and your throat hurting was a good indication it would be.

He sighed, the rise and fall of his chest felt against yours.

“Fucking demons _and _wizards. Assholes from outer space were bad enough, but this was just… completely insane. Maybe I should get out of New York while I still can.”

You snorted softly, pulling back as you attempted to give him a reassuring smile that didn’t tremble.

Davin released you, not just returning your smile but improving on it with the crookedness you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“So. You can summon portals, huh?”

You blinked like an owl, or maybe a blind-sided deer.

“No,” you denied immediately. “The wizards tested me, came to the conclusion I’m as magically dead as a doornail.”

“Hmm.” He made a face, scrunching up his nose while your expression remained impassive. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that. Yaegore couldn’t stop talking about you. _The wonder child who could summon demons_. Honestly, I think he had a crush. In fact, when he wouldn’t shut up and went on for hours and hours, I made fun of him for it. Got me some peace and quiet for a while, at least.”

He gave a self-deprecating shrug at your silent staring, valiantly trying to maintain his cooked smile. He was doing an excellent job for the most part, and if you didn’t know better, you would say the experience hadn’t rattled him at all.

But you did know better.

“Hey, if I can’t joke about my own possession, can I truly call myself a Millennial?”

Your sigh was loud and heavy but you rolled your eyes to show him you didn’t mean it. At least one of you still had your sense of humor. Yours had been lost somewhere in a wizard’s dungeon.

As weirdly easy as it was to talk to Davin now, probably because of your shared and very strange trauma, he couldn’t stay forever. You both had the shattered pieces of yours lives to pick up, but you promised to keep in touch. You, because you were worried after his experience with the heigore. Him, probably because of your experience with Bucky. You knew it was no use telling Davin you had no reason to fear Bucky, so you didn’t try.

After he left, giving you one last warm, parting hug, you were left alone in your apartment. The silence was damning, the apartment too cold, and you turned the heater up, afterwards heading for the bedroom for a change of clothes. Silk robes did nothing for the December chill.

There was a bundle on your bed, and a second bundle of fur on top of that. The bundle moved, stretched out while splaying claws, and gave a yawning mewl.

“Monster!”

You buried your face in his side, hugging him tightly. He bore the burden of your attention before wiggling out of your grasp, leaving behind the pile of clothing the wizards must have brought.

On top of your clothing (washed and dried but now covered with grey cat hairs), was a folded piece of white paper.

Curious, you opened the sheet, eyes widening as they followed along the short message.

_1 Main St, Brooklyn_

_9PM_

_Ask for Jacob Miller_

_-JBB_

The handwriting was in cursive, oddly neat but old-fashioned, but that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise considering who had written it.

Bucky was asking you to meet him somewhere, _tonight._ You didn’t know who Jacob Miller was, but the thought of meeting Bucky again after not having had a chance after so long…

…and knowing by the gauge of your body, like some kind of fucked-up clock tuned into your libido…

Your stomach twisted into knots but your fingers curled into fists. Bucky owed you a goddamn explanation. Not even the daunting idea of him having to feed from you was going to stop you from getting your answers.

With a resolution you hadn’t felt in a long time, you stripped off the silken robes and headed for the shower in preparation for what the night would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we finally going to get back to the smutty smut??? Tune in next time on: How To Tame Your Demon


	16. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky have "The Talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to finally share this chapter. I've been looking forward to writing it for MONTHS.
> 
> I love you all. Stay safe.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Angst, miscommunication, mild sexual content

After washing away the weirdness of the last few days and pulling on your most comfortable pair of jeans, complete with an old, baggy sweater and well-worn boots, you were ready to tackle the next problem of the day: how to get to Brooklyn.

You’d left your car, dead battery and all, back at the office. But when you got out to the parking lot, you saw your car sitting safe and sound in your spot. Cleaned. The battery magically coming to life when you turned the key in the ignition.

Huh. Maybe it really _was _magic that had charged your battery. Being a wizard was kind of super convenient, and you almost regretted being just a normal, average—

Your shoulder gave a twinge, throbbing under your sleeve.

Okay, maybe not _entirely _average. You sighed through your nose as you drove out of the parking lot and into traffic, once again reminded that you were going to Bucky’s place to do more than just _talk._

As it turned out, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out who Jacob Miller was when you took two seconds to think about it. Though you began to have your doubts once you were standing outside of the historical condo. It was even less reassuring when you were let past by the doorman into an intricate, opulent lobby.

A multi-million dollar apartment didn’t really seem Bucky’s style.

“Ah, yes, Mister Miller said you would be coming,” the desk manager informed you with stiff politeness, directing you toward a small bank of elevators.

It was too late to back out now, so you let yourself be led along, trying not to feel like a lost, wayward lamb.

The elevator operator—because apparently those were still a thing that existed this century—hit the _PH _button for you. The knots in your stomach tightened as you realized the clock tower you’d seen on the outside of the building, was in fact, part of “Jacob Miller’s” residence.

God, you really hoped this guy was Bucky. It made sense. He wouldn’t use his own name, even if the world thought he had died in 1991. Especially with all the business a few years ago of Hydra trying, and failing, to take over S.H.I.E.L.D., he would want to be careful.

Once you reached the top and the elevator doors opened, you were surprised to see the elevator itself open directly into the penthouse suite. The floor plan was open, spacious, almost empty… until you realized this was just the foyer.

Feeling like an intruder, you called out Bucky’s name as soon as the elevator doors shut behind you. Your echo faded into silence with no answering reply. You winced as you checked your new phone to find it was only 8:30 PM, your anxiety having forced you to leave too early to give yourself time to navigate the roads. With the holiday shopping traffic a nightmare, you were surprised you’d arrived so soon.

Too soon, apparently, if Bucky wasn’t here. But wouldn’t the desk manager have said something if that was the case? Where would Bucky even go?

With slow, careful steps, you walked across the hardwood floor into the apartment proper.

It was… not what you had been expecting. There were no walls to separate the space, apart from an alcove you suspected was the bathroom. The living room was off to the side near one of the large clock face windows, of which there were four, each in the middle of the four opposing walls. The entire apartment was in a perfect cube space, set directly in the scooped-out brains of the former clock tower.

On one side was the living room, complete with a plus couch and a widescreen TV on an elegant mahogany stand.

In the middle of the square penthouse was a raised dais, empty except for a nice teal rug, and a glass elevator just beyond. You stood beside it and peeked upward into the “shaft,” open enough to show that the elevator went up at least two more stories, a railed staircase wrapping around it like a wood-and-steel boa constrictor.

Just how big_ was_ this place?

On another side was the bedroom, if it could be called that, being so out in the open. The bed, an extra-large King-sized piece with a modern, black wood frame, was situated in front of one of the massive clock face window, giving a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline across the river.

The kitchen was in a corner between the bedroom and small dining room. It was ultra-modern: sleek, clean, and would put most cooking shows to shame with its burnished silver and white appliances and smooth granite countertops. It made you wonder for the first time if Bucky actually ate food, real food, or if he just survived on… well… sex.

The thought made your stupid, gremlin libido perk with interest. You ignored it, not too difficult to do when the object of your involuntary lust wasn’t even here.

Overall, it was not the kind of home you’d imagined Bucky having. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, maybe an off-the-grid cabin in the middle of the mountains. Or even a boat he let stay anchored off port, flying back to the city if he needed something.

That’s what _you_ would do if you had to live as a demonic hermit. Not lavish in luxury in a multi-million dollar penthouse in a clock tower.

Okay, actually, you did love the clock tower part. He was like a real-life gargoyle, and now you wanted to ask him if he perched on the ledge of his roof and wrapped his wings around his shoulders like a medieval French statue.

Your humor faded, curiosity dimmed as you remembered why you were here. And it wasn’t so you and Bucky could become friends.

Morose mood restored, you sat on the edge of the plush microfiber sofa, set your purse on the ground, curled your hands in your lap, and waited.

It was exactly the last thing you needed, to sit alone with your thoughts. You’d be able to distract yourself all afternoon and evening by getting cleaned up, watching TV, and spacing out on your phone. You might have spent the time doing the housework you’d put off, but it seemed the wizards had done it for you.

Just like your car, your apartment had been completely cleaned. Which was nice, if not kind of weird, but you definitely weren’t going to complain over a clean apartment.

You’d just wished you could stop _thinking._

Since Davin remembered everything, you weren’t sure you could show your face at work ever again. Funny how that seemed to be your most pressing concern, but honestly, working at an office was bad enough without a coworker knowing you had to have sex with a demon because the alternative was a gruesome and tortuous death.

And then there was Bucky. You’d thought you were getting somewhere with him at the wizard’s palace. You’d thought he cared about you. Was it all a lie? All a manipulation to get an easy meal?

You shifted on the cushions, stomach aching as your stress increased. _Please, let me be wrong. Please let this be some kind of horrible misunderstanding—_

You jerked your head to the side, tilting it at a sudden noise somewhere above you. Low and thudding, rhythmic, like a bass beat.

But you were in the penthouse, there was no one else above you. No one could be playing music up this high, could they?

Curious, you got up from the couch and returned to the elevator shaft, placing a hand on it as you looked upwards. The sound seemed to be originating from there, and it hadn’t stopped.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you took one last look at the living space. _Fuck it._

You took the stairs, not willing to use the suspect-looking glass elevator. The shaft was open, allowing you to walk past thick cables and steel beams as you continued upward, a hand steadying yourself on the smooth railing.

The sound was like a drumbeat, but the pacing was uneven. It sounded like… like a heartbeat. And with each step upward, the pace seemed to quicken, grow stronger, as if urging you onward.

You swallowed heavily as you kept going. The higher you went, the less it looked like a condo and the more it looked like the inner workings of a clock. Old, wooden beams crisscrossed from wall to wall, dust motes floating in the pale light cast from a light somewhere above you.

It was cold,_ very_ cold, as if the heating system didn’t go up this far. You suspected it didn’t, and you wrapped your old sweater tighter around your chest as you shivered.

Reaching what you could only describe as the “abbey,” you saw the large space where the mechanical clockwork had actually been stored. It had all been removed long ago, but the wooden scaffolding remained, high above your head. There was a wrought iron staircase that led to the roof, free of rust but still looking as if it was over a hundred years old.

There was no reason for you to keep going up, anyway; the sound was originating from the wall to your left. The beat was urgent and so loud you could feel the pulse in your chest and fingertips.

You should have been terrified,_ would_ have been terrified, but you were trapped in its pull. It wasn’t an urge, or curiosity, but a soul-deep need to find what it was.

You dropped to your knees before the wall, seeing just the faintest shadow between one wood plank and the next. Digging your fingernails into the crack, you pulled at the plank, sweat almost running into your eyes despite the chill that formed puffs of white from your lips.

Pulling so hard you felt a nail almost break, you yanked the wood out of place, tossing it to the side where it clattered against the floor.

The beating stopped.

You stared at the black space, completely dark inside the wall. There was absolutely no reason to stick your hand in there, where you with either find a still-beating, tell-tale heart, or a cursed children’s board game that transported you into a magical jungle.

How messed up your life had become that neither of those things seemed far-fetched.

Your decision was partially made for you. Even though the thumping had stopped, the urge to reach in and grab, to pull, to hold whatever it was that had made the noise to begin with—it was growing stronger by the second.

So it was with a shaky hand that you reached into the hollow crevice, your heart pumping madly as your dry throat compulsively swallowed, and wrapped your fingers around…

…soft, plushy fur?

After a moment of confused hesitation, you retracted your hand and stared down at the object in your grip.

Covered in a light layer of dust, grey tabby stripes faded with time, there was no mistaking the onyx glassy eyes staring back at you.

“Mr. Squiggles?” you asked, sounding so much like the ten year old you’d been when you’d lost him. Vanished into that unknown place where all lost childhood toys went.

Or so you’d thought. Why the hell did Bucky have… your… your…

Your thoughts ground to a halt, a crowbar thrown into the gears as you stared down at the toy in your hands. Your favorite toy in the whole world that had disappeared around the time the cursed book had said the demon pact had been formed.

You probably wouldn’t have made the connection so quickly if not for how the tabby cat felt in your hands. There was something about it that felt horribly visceral, like you’d reached down into your chest cavity to give your organs a direct poke.

It was _extremely_ disturbing, but when you pressed the stuffed cat to your chest, it felt… better. You could take a full breath and loosen your muscles, no longer sensing the tension on the back of your neck.

You closed your eyes and didn’t move for a good while, trying to come to terms with the fact you were holding some kind of… piece of your own soul in your hands, if the book could be believed. So far, everything that damned thing had said seemed to be right.

Wincing at the stiffness in your knees, you kept the toy tight to your chest as you went back downstairs, being extra careful on your way down the stairs. You weren’t concerned for _yourself_, exactly, but the thought of dropping the toy made your heart race with anxiety and your vision slightly spin with vertigo.

The legs that carried you to one of the couches were numb and cruising on autopilot. You sat down—perched on the edge of a cushion, more accurately—and set the toy in your lap.

You didn’t move from your chosen spot, not even when your phone read 9:14 P.M. Bucky was late, and you didn’t feel anything. Numbness had seeped through your entire body at this point, refusing to believe the implications of finding _this_ toy in Bucky’s possession. Holed up in a wall like some kind of dirty secret.

You heart began to race. Okay, maybe you weren’t as numb and disconnected as you’d thought.

The sound of your name being spoken by a familiar voice only a few feet behind you startled you so hard you jolted to your feet.

You spun around and banged your calves against the coffee table as you tried to retreat. The furniture stopped you cold, your arms wrapped protectively around the toy pressed to your chest.

Bucky stood absolutely stock-still. His half-curled wings gave him an intimidating silhouette, further strengthened but the outline of his curved horns and the flickering tail near his legs.

You hadn’t heard him come in, as silent as a big cat stalking through a forest, eyeing the tree line for a meal.

But he wasn’t looking at you like a predator. There had been very few occasions where you’d’ seen the blood drain from Bucky’s face, leaving his skin pale and his eyes haunted.

This was one of them.

He said your name again, this time with an unsteady questioning. His eyes, slightly wide as he stared at the toy in your arms, finally rose to your face.

You expected him to ask how you’d found it. Maybe even get angry, yell at you for snooping in his house and sticking your nose where it didn’t belong.

Instead, he said nothing. Still as a real gargoyle stature. The silence that surrounded him was so much worse than anything he could have said, and it was far more damning.

“Bucky.” Your voice shook. You wanted to be wrong. Had to be. “Why do you have this?”

His lips slightly parted but no noise escaped. Bucky closed his mouth and his brows deepened into an almost pained look. It was guilt you were seeing. Guilt, because he had done something wrong and he knew it.

The confused hurt, the suspected betrayal, all of it rose to the surface in a fury that left you feeling like you might explode. You maneuvered around the couch, walking fast up the two steps onto the dais before coming to a halt.

You were still a few feet away from him where he stood frozen next to the elevator shaft. From this height, you were almost eye-level with him.

“This is an _animus_, isn’t it?” The words were sharp and accusatory. Bitter.

Bucky’s eyes went comically wide. He took a step forward, tail flicking with distress. “How do you know about that?”

“Does it matter?” you choked out, tone rift with sarcasm. “Is it true? Did you force me into a pact with you? When I was just a kid? _Did you?!”_

He said your name again, low and even, his hands out as if trying to soothe a spooked horse.

“I need you to calm down and tell me exactly where you heard that word. It’s important.”

“Important?” you repeated, angry tears filling your eyes as your throat tightened. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, every part of you had wanted to prove the book wrong. Instead, you’d found your worst fears confirmed to be true.

“You know what’s important? The fact you’ve been waiting for me to grow up. Fattened me up like a lamb for the slaughter. That’s what I am to you. Just a meal.”

The tears clouded your vision and you wiped them viciously away, just in time to see the wince in his expression. Bucky had nearly reached the bottom of the dais, about to put his foot on the first step, but your next words stopped him cold.

“Did you really rescue me that night? Or were you and the _Alpen_ in on it together?”

The open look of shock on his face was wretched, as if you’d plunged a knife straight through his chest, leaving him raw and bloody.

You regretted the words almost immediately, but the damage had been done.

Bucky stood there with the look of a man who was trying to steady himself, reel back the emotions that were rarely so exposed. His Adam’s apple bobbed, brows lightly furrowed in anxious worry as he dropped his gaze to the hardwood floor, somewhere near your feet. His wings were tucked as far against his back as they would go without folding up, shoulders hunched as if to make himself smaller.

Despite how hurt and betrayed you felt, there was a large part of you that wanted to reach out and wrap him in your arms. But you didn’t. You remained completely still as he began to speak.

“I found out just before you were attacked.” His words were flat, a hint of sadness to them. “I’d been searching in the Sanctum’s library for weeks. Never found an answer. So I went to Wong, asked him if he knew anything about humans bearing demon sigils. As it turns out, he did.”

Bucky took a deep breath, his wings shifting uneasily on his back, tail wrapping around his leg in a tight coil.

“He explained how pacts are made. It still didn’t make any sense; they can’t be made on accident, both sides have to agree to it. We never did anything like that. And then… I remembered the toy.”

Bucky rose his eyes high enough to stare at the stuffed tabby in your arms. You squeezed it tighter, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“You wouldn’t remember, but you gave it to me, soon after I came through the portal. I guess… that was good enough for whatever fucked up magic creates these things,” he said, his pointed ears drooping miserably. You hadn’t even known they could do that, and it made you feel even more of an asshole, a feeling you were becoming all too familiar with.

Tilting your head with a frown, you said, “I don’t… understand. Why would I give you Mr. Squiggles?”

Bucky’s morose expression lifted the smallest degree as he met your eye.

“’Mr. Squiggles?’”

“It’s his name.”

The faintest twitch touched his lips, the gesture making something in your chest stir, but then he grew serious again.

“I don’t know why you did it, if I’m being honest. I wasn’t exactly stable. Not to mention a fucking_ demon_ had just landed in the middle of your bedroom. You should have been terrified. Instead, you… just. Handed it to me. Said it would help.”

He gave a small shrug. If you hadn’t gotten so good at reading his tells, the way his tail uncoiled and twitched as his wings shuffled, you wouldn’t have realized he was actually embarrassed.

“And you… kept him? All these years?”

His tail swatted like a cat’s, his wings unfurling enough for you to see the warm glow of the lamps shining through the webbing.

All easy, obvious tells. Also, he was blushing. The sight of it was like injecting your libido with steroids, and you had to fight to pay attention and not do something crazy, like, jump his bones.

“I didn’t want to get rid of it,” he grumbled, unable to meet your eye. “Would have seemed like an asshole thing to do. Plus I was… drawn, to it? Should have known there was something more going on than me just being a sentimental idiot. I had no idea what it actually was. What I’d done to you.”

Bucky licked his lower lip before lightly sinking his teeth into it. His _sharp_ teeth, your horny monkey brain supplied helpfully. He raised his head to finally meet your gaze, his pretty eyes almost enough to distract from what he was saying.

“And then when the heigore nearly killed you, I just… It didn’t seem all that important, at the time. That’s why I told you to come here. I was going to tell you. Tonight.”

“Oh.” Shame flooded your cheeks, but it didn’t completely sidetrack you from something else that had been bothering you. “But… why didn’t you tell me afterwards? When I was stuck in that room. You didn’t come see me again, after I woke up…”

You let the words die when Bucky winced, drawing up his shoulders and shuffling his wings again.

“I couldn’t talk to you. Not there. Not when Strange himself was probably spying.”

“But you could talk to Davin.” Some of the steel had returned to your voice. “You could visit _and_ threaten him—“

“I didn’t threaten him,” he huffed out, a measure of hardness in his own tone. “I told him the truth. Said that if he told the sorcerers what the heigore knew about the demon pact, they would lock you up. Strange would, too. Do you know how lucky we are that he didn’t sense your sigil?”

It was like a cold splash in your face, dampening your anger, and the tension from Bucky’s expression drained as well.

“Why didn’t he?” you asked, voice small.

“Honestly? No idea.” He licked his lip, once again annoyingly distracting. “But, after everything that happened, with the heigore, and with your friend… I think it might be a mistake to keep all of this from Strange. I should have gone to him after… that first time.”

Bucky seemed to have sudden difficulty speaking, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked up and studied your face, long enough that you had to fight to not squirm.

“I think that’s what I’m gonna have to do. Tell Strange. He might keep you at the Sanctum, but he would find a way to break the bond. It’ll be better than—“

_“No!”_

Your sharp denial echoed off the hardwood floors and plaster walls, slightly startling to yourself but apparently more so to Bucky. He stared at you, frown steadily increasing.

“No? What do you mean _no_. We’ve got no other choice.”

“You can’t,” you choked out, fear clutching at your throat as you took a step forward. “I won’t let you.”

“You won’t… let me,” he repeated, voice lowered in confusion.

You plunged forward, desperate to tell him what you had found now that you actually could. You knew he’d be pissed, but it was better than him being dead.

“I… I saw something. While I was there. I didn’t mean to. I was just following Monster, he opened my room somehow, and I followed him down to the basement. And, and there was this, dungeon.”

You took a breath, running out of air from your panicked rambling, now standing almost directly before Bucky, still meeting him at eye-level.

“Bucky… it was a trophy room. A _demon _trophy room. There were horrible things in there, demonic taxidermies and babies in jars, and—“

“You…” The pitch of his voice had dropped again, this time definitely not from confusion. “You went into the dungeon?”

“You’re missing the point! If you tell them about the pact, they’re going to, to… I don’t know! Turn you into a rug, or something!”

Bucky actually _groaned_ and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When he spoke your name, it was with barely-contained patience, as if he was doing everything in his power to stay calm and not shout at you, which was kind of _super hot_—

“That’s not a trophy room, girl,” Bucky growled. “It’s a _vault.”_

“A… what?”

“A vault.” He lowered his hand and leveled a loaded gaze at you. “For the last two decades, I’ve been helping the sorcerers raid old HYDRA bases. Abandoned labs and private collections, shit like that. Whatever I could remember, making sure we took all their occult stuff. I didn’t want them doing _this_ to anyone else.”

Bucky’s eyes hardened and you sucked in a breath, gut tightening as your body had all the wrong reactions to his stern tone.

“So yes, a _vault._ A place where the sorcerers store incredibly dangerous demonic artifacts to keep wandering guests from accidentally cursing or killing themselves.”

The darkness that enveloped his features made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and when he took the short stairs to stand on the dais directly in front of you, you took two hurried steps back.

“Did you touch anything?”

You mouth opened, useless, like a gaping fish. Bucky snatched your upper arms in his grip, halting your retreat as he glared down at you, the toy trapped between your chests.

“I need you to answer me. _Did you touch anything.”_

“I…” Your voice was a pathetic squeak. “Y-yes? I, I know I shouldn’t have—“

“What _was it?”_

“A book!” you blurted out, equal parts scared and unbearably turned on. “Just an old book!”

Bucky’s fingers tightened on your arms as his eyes widened.

“A book? What kind of book? What did it look like?”

“Uh, it was, I donno. Really old? Wrinkly leather, old musty pages—“

“Did you open it?” Bucky cut you off, and when you didn’t respond fast enough, he actually gave you a small shake. “Did you _open it?”_

“Yes!”

Survival instinct finally overtook the unnatural, magically-fueled arousal. Tears blurred your eyes, fear clutching your throat. Not from Bucky’s anger, but from the color that was receding from his face for the second time tonight. It was _his_ fear that was making your knees tremble and your words spill out of you like a wound.

“I… I opened it. And the pages cut me. It formed w-words from the blood. It asked me wh-what I wanted, to know, and that’s how I know about the… the _animus_. It told me—told me about—the pact. And it can’t be broken, it’s permanent, nothing can break it but—but death. And it wouldn’t let me go, Monster had to shut it—“

Panic and terror weighed on your chest and coursed through your veins as the full weight of what had happened crashed down on you. Seeing Bucky’s reaction had made it suddenly far too real, and you couldn’t handle cope, couldn’t breathe—

You clawed at his jacket for purchase the same instant Bucky moved forward, grabbing you and holding you upright as your knees tried to buckle.

“I’ve got you, okay? Just… take deep breaths. Slow your breathing. I know you wanna take big, gulping breaths, but that’s the opposite of what you gotta do.”

As he held your shaking body to keep it from falling apart, Bucky’s speech took on a slightly different inflection, forming around a light New York accent.

That more than anything snapped you out of the feedback loop of panic. You clung to him tighter, one arm still around your stuffed animal as the other gripped his jacket tight, your face half-buried in his neck.

The scent of pine and fertile earth flooded your nostrils and immediately grounded you.

_Breathe._ Yeah, you could do that. You could breathe. Especially with Bucky murmuring comforting words to you, one large hand rubbing between your shoulder blades while the other was slung around your lower back.

_“I’m sorry,”_ you choked, trying to gulp and gasp at the same time. “I’m sorry I keep freaking out. And messing up. Everything I do, I just, I make it worse. I know—I know I shouldn’t have followed, but Monster led me there, and I thought… I mean, it’s _Monster._ He wouldn’t lead me somewhere dangerous, would he?”

Bucky snorted, tickling the hairs on your head.

“Hobgoblins are a pain in the ass on a good day. They do what they want, when they want, and you just gotta kind of accept the fact you’ll never really understand them. I don’t think he was trying to put you in danger, but…”

He loosened his hold and pulled you away gently, at arm’s length, looking down at you with a strange, reluctant expression.

“That book shouldn’t have opened. Not for you.”

You tried to swallow the sudden lump in your throat.

“W-what do you mean?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits, his brow furrowed and uneasy.

“Only the Sorcerer Supreme can open the _Necronomicon_.”

“The… what? Can open the what?”

“The _Sumerian Book of the Dead_,” Bucky explained, not really explaining anything at all. He took a deep breath, as if what he was about to say caused him great pain.

“It can only be opened by the sorcerer’s leader. I don’t think Strange’s tests worked. I think… he might have been right that you had something to do with that portal. There’s a reason that book is locked away. It’s extremely dangerous. The fact it opened for you…”

Your eyes widened as his hands dropped from your shoulders and his flesh arm reached into a pocket—and for the second time that day, you snatched someone’s hand as they were about to dial their phone.

“Bucky, please.” Your voice was tight, afraid, and you were past caring if he heard it. “Don’t. I can’t do this. I can’t go back there.”

He didn’t remove your hand, but he didn’t put away his phone, either. He just watched you, expression unreadable.

“Can we just… wait?” you asked. “At least until after the holidays? The wizards _just_ let me go, and I can’t… I need a chance to breathe. And sleep. And absorb everything.”

It was true; you were seriously at the end of your rope. One more encounter with demons and wizards and you were going to lose your goddamn mind.

When he didn’t seem entirely convinced, you threw pride to the wind, willing to beg if you had to.

“Bucky, _please._ Davin’s safe, I’m fully recovered, and… whatever’s going on with me isn’t going to change over the next few days. So can we just… take a breather?”

Bucky’s expression, at first hard and unconvinced, had slowly loosened into something so soft it tugged painfully at your chest.

“Yeah,” he finally said, voice a little rough. “Yeah, you’re right. You need the rest, and I need to figure out what to do about all this—“

“Okay, no, right there, that’s a problem.”

Bucky blinked when you interrupted him, stepping into his personal space and tapping him on the chest, fixing him with a stern glare.

“You. You keep thinking you can do all this yourself, but this is a_ we_ problem. You and me. We’re in this goddamn mess together. Which means no more secrets. No keeping anything from each other. Full transparency.”

For a moment he just stared at you as if you’d spoken in tongues. Well, maybe not tongues, he _was _a demon after all, but he definitely didn’t seem to comprehend what you were saying.

“Look… we’re both stuck in this situation for the time being. And avoiding it until the last possible second and not talking to each other is clearly not working.”

You didn’t know where this was coming from; you certainly hadn’t planned to make a speech about it on the drive over. You guessed it had been building up for a while, running in the background while you dealt with the crazy shit that was your life.

Bucky seemed to be listening intently, focused on your face with brows furrowed, and you were encouraged to keep talking.

“I know the pact is meant to be some kind of ownership thing, but even the book said you can’t control my soul, or mind, or whatever. So… who’s to stop us from treating this thing like a partnership, instead of a one-sided power trip? Neither of us wanted this, but we’re both adults. We get through it, do what we have to do, and we stop hiding things from each other.”

Blowing out a shaking breath, you winced and added, “Or am I just… being stupidly naïve about it?”

Now that you’d finally said your piece, rambling and awkward as it was, you felt both freed of some invisible burden, and very, _very _nervous as you watched Bucky for his reaction.

He looked completely caught off-guard, but his eyes shone with something like understanding. Maybe even some kind of relief, too.

“No,” Bucky said, his voice slightly lifted in surprise. “You’re not stupid or naïve. I actually think that’s… a very mature way to think about it.”

You felt warmed by his praise for all of two seconds before Bucky’s face folded inward.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you still want to talk to me at this point. I thought maybe you would hate me. Not that you don’t have every right to hate me. I’m expecting it, that’s all.”

“Why would I…” You shook your head, hugging Mr. Squiggles to your stomach as you tried to grapple with Bucky’s words. “Hate you? No, of course not. I was scared, and angry, because I didn’t know all the facts. I got upset because I _don’t_ hate you.”

_Because I think I love you._

You shut your eyes, squeezed them hard as if the act would force the rebellious thoughts back into the farthest reaches of your brain. You were trying to patch things up with Bucky, and him knowing the truth about your feelings was not going to help.

The irony didn’t escape you that after just promising to be transparent, you were still hiding something. But this was different. God knew how Bucky would react. No, that wasn’t true, you knew _exactly _how he would react. He’d tell you you’re not in your right mind, that the bond is influencing you, as if you don’t know your own_ feelings_, and then he’d probably go directly to Strange.

So, no, this was a truth that was safer not to tell.

“It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

You hadn’t realized Bucky had moved, and you opened your eyes to find him standing inches away, watching with close attention.

“What?” you asked, mentally rewinding your conversation to see if you’d missed something.

“Your sigil.”

“Oh.”

You hadn’t actually thought about it for a few minutes, distracted with your own inner turmoil, but now that you took stock, the throbbing between your legs had increased to an almost unbearable degree.

You gave a shrug, oh-so causal and fake.

“It’s manageable.”

Bucky gave you a look that said _bullshit_ but he didn’t contradict you. Instead, he reached forward and took the stuffed cat from your arms, his flesh fingers holding it as carefully as if it was made of fragile glass and not cotton stuffing.

“I’m gonna set this over here for now,” he explained as it perched on a chest-high cabinet. “I have a safe I can use. Now that I know what this actually _is_, I’m gonna make sure no one can find it. But that can wait until—“

Bucky’s words cut short with a choked noise of surprise, pulled from him when you had pressed yourself, full-bodied, right up against the entire front of his frame.

When_ you_ had first grabbed the toy, it had felt horrible. Unnatural. Like you’d reached inside to prod at your own organs.

When _Bucky _had held the _animus_, you’d felt like your entire existence had been placed within the palm of his hand. And for some reason, that massive, overwhelming, existential feeling filled you with the craziest need to press every inch of your body against him at once, as well as to rub your face against his neck, which you did now.

And while you were there, you decided it would be an amazing time to stick out your tongue and lick a long stripe up his warm skin. He tasted just as good as he smelled, and you hummed in delight as your body valiantly tried to meld with his on a molecular level.

_“Okay_—that’s, uh, _fuck,_” he choked out, his hands on your arms in a half-hearted attempt to pull you away. He ended up doing the exact opposite, pressing you closer, his hands now digging into your back. Something large and warm covered you, and you didn’t even have to break contact to see what it was, your lips hot on his neck as his wings wrapped around you like a second set of arms.

Bucky was already hard in his jeans, pressed taut against your hip, and when you reached under his arm and stroked your fingers down the curve of his extended wing, his cock twitched and he gave a hoarse groan into your hair.

Planting his hands under your ass and lifting you off your feet, Bucky didn’t waste another second closing the distance to his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Davin: *jokes about being possessed*  
Y/N: *reads the Book of the Dead, doesn't see the big deal*  
Bucky, over 100 years old, tired and confused: what is wrong with these youths


	17. Emancipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be pure smut but there's a bit of heavy angst/comfort at the end. Oop.
> 
> Seriously tho it's some heavy stuff because Bucky has been through too much. Please take heed of the warnings.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mentions of past rape/sexual assault

Your back hit the duvet on Bucky’s bed, soft and plush and very inviting. But all your brain could take in at that moment was the feel of the demon above you, strong arms holding you down as your legs encircled his waist.

His mouth was on your neck, all warm lips and a hint of sharp teeth. You were 74% positive you could come just from_ that_, as keyed up as you were and as insanely good as it felt.

Each brush of his lips and each light scrape of his teeth made you squirm and pant like an animal. Your hands were in his soft hair, crushing him to your throat as your hips desperately rubbed against the hard planes of his abdomen.

Bucky let loose one of those low growls that sent a pleasant jolt up your spine before he broke contact with your skin. You were about to complain from the cruel lack of contact until you realized he was moving downward, his hands unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans with deft, practiced movements.

Subdued and placated for the moment, you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him, biting your lip as he removed his trademark black jacket, a long-sleeved blue Henley underneath.

He seemed to favor them, and you didn’t mind _at all._

It was strange. Despite the fact you felt you were going to burst at any moment, you were more lucid now than during any of the previous encounters. You weren’t so overcome with lust that your brain was clouded, as if under a spell. You felt perfectly within control of your mind, if not totally in control of your body.

Hell, even if you_ could_ have stopped all of this, you wouldn’t have wanted to. The sight of Bucky pulling off your shoes and lifting your hips to tug down your pants left you breathless with need. You stripped off your own jacket, leaving on your shirt since taking it off required way more coordination than your trembling fingers had at the moment.

His eyes were growing darker by the second, every inch the predator he seemed to be, and those eyes never left your face, blazing blue with the strength of his own desire. Bucky had left your underwear on, a fact that would have been unfairly frustrating if he also hadn’t grabbed your hips and tugged you to the edge of the bed.

Bucky spread your thighs and knelt between your knees, leaving you dumb and speechless as he gazed up at you with a quiet sort of hunger. His wings were furled behind him, their leathery edges tickling the inside of your calves and ankles.

“I wanna try something different,” he asked in a low, gravelly tone that sent your head spinning. “That okay?”

“S-sure,” you responded, raspy.

Neither of you had other options when it came to the feeding, it had to be done, but being asked for your opinion made it feel more… normal. It let you pretend for a moment that you and Bucky were together by choice.

The mystery of his proposal was quickly answered as he turned his head to the side and planted a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

You_ jumped_, hard enough your face immediately heated with embarrassment, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as his lips continued a trail upward.

He didn’t bother telling you to relax, which you appreciated, since your body felt like a taut string about to snap. Instead, all Bucky said was, “Lie back,” and you did so, fisting your hands into the covers with near-feverish anticipation.

Your shoulder burned, your brand punishing you for the delay, but you couldn’t find it within you to tell him to hurry up, mostly because you couldn’t talk. Gone was every thought in your head as you felt Bucky mouth and lick over your soaked panties.

Your hips jolted as you released a whimper, feeling like you might die if he kept teasing you. And Bucky was_ teasing_ you, licking and prodding your clothed sex with his lips and fingers, forcing sweat to break out on your skin despite the chill in the air.

He’d never done something like this before. He’d always just gotten straight to the point, with you too much of a feverish mess to care about the lack of foreplay.

But now? Now you felt something more than the forced human-demon bond. You _wanted_ Bucky, and you didn’t think you could hide it for much longer.

He froze when your hands reached down and touched his hair, curling into the long, soft strands. And when you wrapped your fingers around his horns and pressed your palms against the rough surface, gripping them like bicycle handles, he lost the last of his control.

Bucky ripped off your panties and buried his face between your legs, pressing the flat of his tongue hard against you as he took one long, possessive lick.

Your back arched off the bed and you actually saw stars. A noise you’d never made before, high-pitched and tortuous, came out of your mouth, and you gripped his horns tighter, pulling them toward you as you tried to fuck yourself on his tongue.

Bucky was having none of it; he wrapped his strong arms around your thighs and pulled them over his shoulders, holding them in place as he licked you again, tongue warm and wet and—_oh_… definitely longer than a humans.

_“Fuck,”_ you choked out, squirming, the sensations too much but not enough. It felt insanely good, and your tightening abdominal muscles meant you were going to come soon, but you didn’t want it to end, not when he’d just started. You wanted him to climb up your body, hold you and actually kiss you, a real _goddamn _kiss—

—but at the same time, you couldn’t bear to tell him to stop. Not with his tongue now prodding your entrance, pushing inside and manipulating you with way more flexibility than a human tongue could ever provide.

In a move that made your vision actually swim with tears, Bucky pressed the flat base of his tongue against your clit while somehow managing to fuck you with the rest of its length.

You let out another choked noise, practically squeezing him between your thighs as your legs crossed behind his head, your hands tugging on his swept-back horns, desperate to pull him closer.

Bucky let loose a growl, gripped your hips tightly in his arms, and without warning, sucked on your clit as if to devour you.

That was all it took, pushing you over the edge as you arched your back and cried, your mind going pleasantly white for a moment before returning back to your writhing body. Pleasure pulsed across every inch of skin, the burst of energy released by your orgasm pulled down and outward at the point where his mouth met your skin.

Bucky was _feeding_ off you. Surprise mixed with the continuous orgasm, and you moaned needfully as you kept a hold of his horns like your life depended on it. Bucky lapped at you, drinking you down as he made a groaning noise of his own.

You were completely wracked, exhausted as he finally pulled away and you were allowed to come down from your high, but you didn’t want to stop. Not yet.

“Wait…” you said, clumsily reaching out when he sat back on his heels. The sight of him licking your slick off his lips left an echo of desire in its wake. “You didn’t… come, did you?”

To your surprise, he gave a light snort and appeared almost sheepish.

“Don’t worry about that. Sit tight. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You simply stared at him, as if you had the strength to go_ anywhere_ right now, and watched as he rose to his clawed feet and disappeared from view. To the bathroom, you realized, when his retreating form disappeared into the alcove you had spotted earlier.

Shivering as you became very aware of the chilly temperature, you curled onto your side and pulled your knees up to your chest, tilting your head up to look longingly at the head of the bed where several plush, grey pillows leaned against the headboard. They were only a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles.

The obvious didn’t occur to you until Bucky returned and began gently, carefully cleaning up the mess between your legs. You rolled onto your back, clumsily batting away his hands.

“C’mon, stop that,” you mumbled, “I’m just going to get dirty again.”

You felt clumsy and warm from the aftereffects of the feeding, even sounding a little punch-drunk to your own ears. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?” he intoned, flat and unamused.

“Aren’t we gonna… you know…”

Your ears went hot as your entire face flushed, and Bucky had the decency to only mildly smirk at you. It might have been a mocking gesture, but damn he looked good while doing it.

“Why would we? The feeding’s already done. You can feel that, right?”

Did you feel the uncontrollable magical lust retreat so you could function like a normal human being? Sure, but, that wasn’t the damn _point!_

While you floundered for a response, Bucky picked you up from the bed and laid you against the pillows. He was always so careful when he picked you up, as if afraid you would shatter in his arms, and it made you even more flustered.

“Y-yeah, but…”

You trailed off, watching as Bucky turned to a nearby dresser. He pulled out a pair of pajama pants, blue-and-white plaid that looked super soft, and he turned back and handed it to you.

“Sorry, this’ll have to do for now until I wash your clothes. They’re kinda… ruined.” There was that sheepish look again, but from the spark in his eye you saw an echo of pride in that fact.

You took the pants from him and pulled them up your legs, sighing at the feel of the soft material against your skin. “I—I can leave in a few minutes after I catch my breath—“

Bucky was already shaking his head.

“Maybe you don’t feel it yet but it’s gonna hit you soon, especially since I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.” He licked his lips nervously and looked away. “Stay the night. I won’t bother you.”

“You don’t bother me,” you muttered grumpily, apparently not possessing your usual filter post-feeding. What an annoying side effect. You winced as you managed to pull up the covers and slip underneath them. The feel of the cold sheets made you shiver. “And you keep avoiding the subject.”

Bucky released a tired sigh, the tension of his shoulders as he stared down at the sheets obvious.

“Why would I make you go through all that again if we didn’t have to?”

You opened your mouth to answer. Nothing came out. It took a few seconds for you to give a weak answer, and not the one you really wanted to give.

“Are you… sure it was enough? Doing it that way? I mean, you didn’t…”

“Yeah, I _did,”_ he insisted. “When you came, so did I. That’s how the feeding works; we’re connected on some kind of… energy level. I don’t understand everything about how it works, but I do know I can feed through oral sex. I mean, I’d never done it quite_ that_ way before, but… I guess the same rules still apply.”

You blinked at his vague answer, feeling incredibly stupid, like you were missing something you should be understanding.

“What do you mean… you’d never done it _that _way before? What way? What rules?”

Bucky grimaced, his tail returning to its usual nervous twitch whenever he was distressed.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Oh.”

You dropped your eyes and gripped your fingers on the covers, pulling them up a little as you tried not to be hurt by the statement. He still had things he wanted to keep private, and you couldn’t resent him for that, not when you were keeping too many of your own feelings hidden.

You heard him sigh, a tired, frustrated sound. “No, it’s… _shit._ It’s not your fault. It’s just hard to revisit that stuff.”

“You don’t have to—“ you were quick to say, but he interrupted just as quickly.

“Yeah, I do. We promised transparency, right?”

You looked up at him, just in time to see him run his normal hand through his hair. The movement was semi-distracting, especially since you knew exactly just how soft that hair was now.

Bucky leveled you with a look that made it seem as if he was bracing for something.

“Remember the whole succubus/incubus argument we had before? Well, regardless of what I am now, I _was _a succubus. And I was forced to feed exclusively on… on men.”

Bucky paused, shifting on his feet and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. You were about to tell him it was fine, he didn’t have to tell you anything he didn’t want to, but he continued in a tense, low tone.

“I don’t know why they made me that way. If it was because I already liked guys as well as girls, or if it was because of that fucker Zola who turned me into this—this _thing._ Whatever the reason…”

He grimaced again, so hard it was a wince.

“…that’s how I always had to feed. That’s how HYDRA made me feed. By sucking guys off, by letting them fuck me. After they fucked with my head and made it so I couldn’t remember anything, they made it seem like the feedings were a _reward.”_

He shook his head, pulling back his lips over his teeth in a humorless smile.

“But the result was the same. I never had a choice. So… if I can do anything in my power to make this less _invasive_ for you, then I’m gonna do it.”

His hand returned to his hair again, brushing it back in a restless, irritated fashion, and you were struck with the image of a predator pacing in a cage as he moved back and forth near the foot of the bed.

“One of my handlers, he showed me a book once. It had sketches, real old ones, of different feedings. One of them showed a female incubus feeding from a woman, so I thought… maybe it’d be better doing it _that _way than forcing you to…”

He trailed off, his expression almost sickened now.

You felt the same way, nauseous and horrified, but not at Bucky. Never at Bucky.

Bucky had had to feed before. On people other than you. And entirely against his will.

The idea seemed obvious _now_, but it still left you entirely speechless.

“So…” He looked away from you, flexing his jaw as he moved to pick up your clothing from the ground. “No. I’m not going to make you endure any more than you have to.”

Shame filled you so fast and so deeply it made your eyes prickle with tears as you looked away. Having to feed on people, being forced to have sex against his will, of _course_ it had been a nightmare for him. How had you never realized that before?

And here you were, treating it like it was some kind of casual fling in the hopes that someday it could be something deeper. Pretending that this whole situation wasn’t the result of Bucky suffering at the hands of HYDRA decades ago.

“I’m sorry,” you said, dropping your eyes to your curled hands in your lap. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Bucky made an annoyed huff, his tone just the same as he said, “That’s not—I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry for—_Jesus,_ don’t apologize, all right? I’ll feel more like an asshole than I already do. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

You couldn’t stop the annoyed sigh before you’d already made the noise, your hands curling into fists.

“Why. For accepting a toy from a kid? Come on, Bucky.” You looked up at him, slightly tilting your head as you gave him an imploring expression. “It’s not your fault. It’s not mine, either. Can we just put the blame where it belongs? With those Nazi fuckers?”

Bucky released an amused snort, looking almost startled that he’d made it. You began to hope, just for a moment, that you’d gotten through to him, but then he shook his head and turned away. He approached a light switch on the wall, pausing with his demonic, armored hand inches from the switch.

“Go to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Without waiting for a reply, he flicked off the light with a clawed nail, leaving the apartment in muted darkness. Only the distant lights of the city shining through the clock faces made it so the penthouse wasn’t completely pitch black.

Trying not to pout and failing, you laid back under the covers, releasing another heavy sigh that you knew he could hear. _Good._ Let him know what an ass he was being. Not to you, but to himself. Why couldn’t he see that none of this was his fault, and he was actually an amazing, caring, wonderful person doing the best he could in a shitty situation?

It felt like you were hitting a brick wall, over and over and _over_ again. God, why did it seem the only time you two got along was when he was holding you down and making you come?

Your own question made your cheeks flush, and you turned over on your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin. Your warm skin made it more obvious how cold the clock tower really was. Surely the guy could afford central heating? He had to be loaded to afford this place. You didn’t know where he got his money from, but it was obvious he wasn’t hard up for cash.

Despite the chill settling on your skin, and despite your best efforts to attune your hearing to the quiet apartment for signs of Bucky moving around (there were none), you eventually stumbled into a restless sleep. One that didn’t last long. You kept surfacing into a half-conscious state, shivering violently as your limbs curled into protective positions.

It wasn’t until you felt the bed dip and warm, strong arms wrap around your waist that your muscles stopped trembling, and you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will these two idiots ever stop messing around and just confess their feelings already?
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Will Bucky ever stop making me sad?
> 
> Unlikely.


	18. Aspire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes breakfast. Reader has a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, and now with some amazing fan art! The first piece is an edit by [Wheresarizona](https://wolveria.tumblr.com/post/616116771308683264/i-love-him-so-much-you-did-such-an-amazing) and I can't stop staring at it. Like, seriously, I could stare at this man for hours. The second is by [Artofthenoodle](https://trashmenofmarvel.tumblr.com/post/616059163831861248/i-am-absolutely-floored-this-is-incredible-and) and I can't tell you how happy I am that I now have fan art for this fic. Fan art was a huge part of what inspired me to write this fic, so this is very emotional for me.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter (it's been too long since I did a Bucky POV!) and I'm sorry for the angst. You know I don't know how to write fluff without it.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Quick references to past abuse, internalized guilt

This wasn’t the first time Bucky had been startled awake with a warm arm draped securely over his chest. It was for that reason that, before he was fully conscious, every muscle in his body froze and his heart lurched in his chest.

But then the soothing smell of petrichor and the subtle scent of the penthouse flooded his nostrils, and Bucky slowly relaxed from his panic-stricken state.

He was safe. No HYDRA soldiers to come rattle his cage and leer at his naked body. No Fairbanks with his grasping hands and lurid smiles. No Lukin taunting him, mocking Bucky for daring to believe he could escape.

It was her. Just her.

Bucky had to focus hard to deepen his shallow breathing, take in enough air to calm his frantic heart. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sun-drenched ceiling, a further reminder of how far he was from that nightmare. Deep in the bowels of the Siberian fortress, sunlight had been a rare luxury, kindness and comfort even rarer.

His human hand was resting on the arm slumped over him, and Bucky lowered his gaze to follow the limb up to its owners face. The rest of his anxiety quieted at the sight of her, the strange girl who never ceased to surprise him.

Even now, he wondered why she was still here. Maybe that would change once she woke, but for now, Bucky was going to let himself be selfish, to believe for a moment that this was… was…

_Normal_ was too generous a word for what this could never be. Even if he didn’t take the demon side into consideration—a big fucking_ if_—Bucky was too damaged. He had given her a tiny glimpse into what HYDRA had done to him. Before his heats had returned, Bucky hadn’t had sex or fed from _anyone_ since he’d escaped HYDRA. And if it wasn’t for the feedings, he doubt he’d ever have sex again. He was too broken to be a decent partner to anyone. The idea of someone putting their hands on him used to turn his stomach inside out.

And yet, here he was, unable to get enough of the simple, intimate touches of sharing a bed with someone. As much as he wanted to push her away, put some appropriate space between them, her closeness was intoxicating. It was all he could do to stop himself from burying his nose in her hair.

He shouldn’t linger, it was cruel and unfair to both of them, but… what was the harm in staying just a few minutes longer…

Bucky turned his head toward her, closing his eyes and breathing her in as the strands of her hair tickled his face. There was a twist in his chest, knowing he was stealing this moment, but it had been so long since he’d had something like this.

The only person he’d ever been this close to was Steve, and Steve hadn’t known… hadn’t fully _understood_ what Bucky had been becoming. Back in the cold muddy trenches and war-torn towns, scouring all of Europe for signs of HYDRA and their occultist laboratories, Steve had helped Bucky through the confusing and terrifying new feedings as much as he could. It had even had the upside of finally letting Bucky admit he’d had feelings for Steve as long as he could remember.

Steve had always been more religious than Bucky. Still believed in God long after Bucky had lost his faith, and he had no delusions what Steve would think about him if he knew Bucky was still alive. When Steve had last seen him, Bucky had been normal, for the most part. The only thing that marked him as no longer human from Zola’s first round of experiments had been his tail, much shorter and smaller in those days.

If Steve saw him now… Bucky knew he’d be the #1 monster on the Avengers’ list.

All these dark thoughts flew around his head, because he needed to be reminded why_ this_ could never be a reality. That Bucky’s first priority should be to find a way to break the bond and let her go, back to her life where she could one day recover from everything he’d done to her.

Bucky would never deserve normal. He’d lost that chance a long time ago.

And yet… why couldn’t he pull away?

A muted tune rang from across the room, startling Bucky, his muscles tightening on learned response. Carefully pulling her arm off his chest, he quickly got up from the bed to his dresser where the phone was still chiming away. It went silent before Bucky could reach it, giving another beep as a message came up on the screen.

**Mom – 1 Voice Message**

Guilt poured through Bucky’s insides. It was nearly noon and people were probably wondering where she was. She had a life to get back to, one that didn’t include him.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder toward the bed, surprised to see the noise and jostling hadn’t woken her.

He knew from observing her over the years that any little noise seemed to startle her awake. Sometimes in his more paranoid moments, Bucky had wondered if she could somehow sense he was there, on the adjoining rooftop of her apartment building, unable to see past the curtained window but feeling her clearly enough. Always watchful, always waiting to see what escaped demon would make its way back to her, and then intervening and killing it before she was ever the wiser.

In hindsight, Bucky was an idiot for not suspecting the bond’s existence. Not when he could find her so easily, sense where she was at any given time, and even _felt _when she was frightened or angry.

But Bucky had been in complete denial, chalking it up to his powers that he didn’t fully understand.

Remembering what he had promised last night, Bucky carefully picked up the stuffed toy and carried it to his study, an overlooked room that branched off from the foyer. Inside was a safe, and within that safe contained his contingency plans.

After everything Bucky had survived, and after seeing HYDRA nearly return several years ago, he was prepared. Falsified passports from dozens of countries, currency from those same nations, and keys for various vehicles he had stashed around the state.

These weren’t just fake IDs for Bucky; there was a second set made for the girl, just in case HYDRA ever found out about her. As obsessed as they were with demon lore, he knew she would be a target if they ever knew how Bucky came back from the dead.

But now, he wondered. Had the bond been influencing him all this time and he had no idea?

Bucky still didn’t know. Sometimes… he felt like he couldn’t trust his own mind.

He returned to the main living area, casting a sidelong glance toward the bed. She was still tucked under the covers, now hugging a pillow tight to her chest and burying her face into the fabric.

Knowing it didn’t mean _anything_, Bucky headed toward the kitchen to make himself useful. The least he could do was cook her a decent breakfast before she inevitably left.

Pulling the ingredients from the fridge and cupboards, Bucky tried not to think about how he wanted her to stay, and the disappointment settling in his chest at knowing she wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair of him to feel that way. He didn’t deserve to_ want_ anything.

Bucky would give her a few days, like he promised, but then he was going to Strange. This had already gone too far, and he should have gone straight to the sorcerers after the first feeding.

Maybe he couldn’t be blamed for the first time, but everything after was on Bucky.

Steeped as he was in his grim mood, Bucky didn’t realize she was awake until she was already in the kitchen. He looked up from where he was cooking pancakes on the stove, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of her disheveled appearance. Her hair was a mess and she was rubbing her cheek where it was still wrinkled from being pressed against the pillow.

She was also wearing a sweater. His, specifically; an old grey one he’d almost forgotten about.

“Was cold,” she said by way of explanation, shrugging self-consciously and plugging at one of the baggy sleeves. “Sorry. I can take it off if you want.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Of_ course _the memory of the night before rose full force in his head, and he suddenly loved the idea of her just taking everything off. Writhing on his bed, this time fully naked as he dragged his tongue up her stomach, between her breasts and latching onto her throat—

He cleared his throat and struggled to speak past the lump there.

“Borrow all the clothes you like.” At least his voice was passably steady. There was no reason for her to think he had any filthy thoughts running through his head. “Sorry for waking you, was trying to be quiet.”

“I needed to get up,” she responded, almost sounding… cheery. She took a step forward, seemed to think better of it, and remained hovering near the island counter.

Bucky forced himself to turn back to the stove, his tail flicking back and forth with interest, and he was tempted to swat at it with the spatula. With her here, in his kitchen, in his_ house_ which had been cold and empty for so long, it felt painfully domestic.

He shouldn’t get used to it, he told himself. It was temporary.

“I’m making blueberry pancakes, if you want some. I know you like ‘em.”

Bucky winced. Fucking _fantastic_. As if she needed to be reminded he’d been watching her for years like a goddamn stalker.

“If you want to eat them before you go, I mean,” Bucky hurriedly added, wanting her to understand she could leave at any time, that she wasn’t a prisoner.

Strangely, he heard her breath hitch as she gave a small, “Oh.”

She almost sounded disappointed. Bucky was imagining it, wishful thinking, because of course she wouldn’t want to stay, especially if she knew how tempted he was to toss the spatula, turn off the stove, and carry her right back to bed where he wouldn’t let her leave for the rest of the day—

What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d just fed last night! There was zero reason he should be this fucking hard up for sex _again._

“What about you? Do _you_ like blueberry pancakes?”

Bucky had been so distracted he hadn’t realized she’d snuck up on him, standing at his elbow and looking up at him curiously. Somehow, he managed not to flinch aside from a slight shifting of his wings.

His tail started to reach out to her, so Bucky tightly coiled it around his leg. _Stupid fucking thing._

“Uh…” He blinked down at her, not knowing what to say.

“Because until now, I didn’t know you even ate food.” She scrunched up her nose, giving him a funny little smirk. “I thought you lived entirely on sex.”

A snort was startled out of him and he had to fight not to smile, pressing his lips firmly together. Only she could joke about something like that.

“That’s only the demon side. The human part of me still has to eat.”

“Mmm, I see.”

God, was she teasing him? He could have sworn there was a lilting edge to her tone, but that couldn’t be right.

“Do you need any help?” she asked, slightly leaning forward to the stove. Without thinking, Bucky put a hand on her shoulder to gently pull her back. Last thing he needed was for her to get hot vegetable oil burns.

“I’ve got it covered. Thanks,” he said, internally wincing at his stiff response.

Bucky looked back down at the pancakes, focusing very hard on the simmering mixture, but the warm presence at his elbow didn’t go away, and instead leaned closer, begging to be paid attention to.

Goddamn if it wasn’t working.

He had pancakes to flip. He couldn’t think about how cute she looked right after waking up, or how seeing her dressed in Bucky’s clothes made him feel _something_ he couldn’t quite explain to himself.

“So…” she drawled, “I have questions.”

“Uh-huh?” Bucky answered noncommittedly. It seemed she hadn’t forgotten his promise they could talk in the morning, so he kept his entire attention honed on flipping, scrapping, and transferring a cooked pancake to the plate before adding more batter.

“Living in a clock tower isn’t exactly what I’d pictured for a demon’s natural habitat.”

Bucky said nothing, stubbornly waiting for an actual question to be put to him. Probably a mistake on his part, because she propped herself against the counter, leaning back just far enough that he couldn’t avoid her eye.

“Okay,” he said, flat, staring at the pan as if his life depended on it.

“I’m just curious how you wound up in a multimillion dollar penthouse in Brooklyn.”

Bucky released another soft snort. That question, at least, was one that was easy to answer.

“It’s not mine. It belongs to the Masters. The Sorcerer Supreme, specifically, and the last one was… generous enough to let me stay.” A small tug pulled at the corner of his mouth as he added, “And the current one hasn’t decided to kick me out. Yet.”

“That’s Strange, right? I mean.” She sheepishly winced. “Strange the man, not… strange as in…”

“Yeah, I got what you meant.” Now it was Bucky’s turn to turn a playful smirk in her direction. “That’s his real name, did you know that? He used to be a surgeon not that long ago. Permanently injured his hands in a car accident and went searching for the sorcerers for a cure. And then he never left them.”

Bucky could tell this piqued her interest. She seemed fascinated with that kind of thing, to his eternal dismay. He would have thought after being attacked by an _Alp_, and then a heigore, and having to deal with Bucky himself, she’d want nothing to do with demons or magic.

“Neat,” she said, confirming his suspicions that she wasn’t the least bit interested in forgetting about occultism and that she lacked a serious self-preservation instinct. “I mean, not neat that he got in an accident—“

“I know,” Bucky repeated, his smirk forming into an actual smile.

It felt… odd on his face, rusty and not as bright as his smiles used to be, but he couldn’t deny it was nice. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled like that.

Bucky caught sight of the look on her face, staring up at him with such raw, unfiltered wonder that he had to immediately duck his head again, cheeks suddenly going hot.

The hell was she looking at him like that for?

“Okay, so, next question,” she said, apparently not noticing the borderline panic-mode Bucky was in. “How did you end up with the wizards? I know about the portal business, but you haven’t really told me much about what happened right after.”

Bucky bit his lip. This area was a little more… difficult. It was a time he really didn’t want to think about, and considering all the fucked up memories he didn’t want to remember, that was really saying something.

But he’d made a promise, and he was actually planning on keeping it, for once.

“They knew about the portal. Sensed it themselves or through their weird magic shit, I don’t know, but they went looking for the demons that came through. They also went to the origin of where the portal appeared. Your house,” he clarified when she remained silent and gawking.

“My… house?” Her brows were furrowed severely. “I think I’d remember wizards at my house.”

Bucky lifted his brows and gave her a long look, pleased with himself when she became flustered and looked away.

“They probably disguised themselves,” Bucky continued. “Police, pest control, city maintenance. They try not to shape or alter memories when they can. That kind of thing has a lingering effect.”

If Bucky was scraping the spatula a little too hard against the frying pan, she didn’t comment on it, and he was relieved to see the batter was almost gone. One more batch should do it.

“I… think I remember pest control people, yeah. They were in my room a long time. Said I had termites in my closet.” She let out a snort. “Yeah, I definitely remember that, because I thought they were a bunch of liars. Told my mom and she scolded me for being rude to strangers.”

A slow smile made its way onto Bucky’s face. He could see the scene all too clearly. Even at that age she’d seemed fearless.

His smile faded a little as he recalled what happened after. He could still see the glowing orange glyphs in the dark alley, feel the fiery ropes around his wrists and ankles as they restrained him.

“The sorcerers caught me in a trap. It was… bad.” He worried at his lip, wings shifting and his tail tightening around his leg. “I wasn’t myself. After where I’d been, I barely remembered what it was like to be human. It took me a long time to remember who I was, and they helped me with that. I owe them a lot.”

_Too much,_ he thought. And he’d never be able to pay her back. The Ancient One’s death had come as a shocking blow, and Bucky wished more than anything that she was here now. She’d know what to do, how to actually handle the bond, unlike the goateed prick.

“Really?” she asked, curiosity back in her tone. “Because I got the impression you didn’t really like the wizards. Not that I can blame you. I was this close to strangling Strange with his own cloak.”

And just like that, the dark thoughts edging in were chased away, and Bucky was trying not to smile again.

“The Masters had a different leader back then. She was… kind. Terrifying, in a quiet kind of way. She had to kick my ass a few times before I got the hint that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He looked down at the pancake, flipping it over with a small, soft pull at his lips. “It didn’t take me long to realize she wasn’t HYDRA. She never hurt me. Never forced me to feed. In fact, she created the first version of the replacement potion. Apparently, no one knew how to do it, but she figured it out, somehow…”

Bucky trailed off as he caught the strange expression on the girl’s face. She was looking pointedly at the floor, her mouth drawn into a tight line with her brows at a troubled angle.

“She sounds like she’s important to you,” she said, still refusing to meet his eye.

“She was,” Bucky agreed, eyeing her a moment before turning back to the pan just long enough to flip the pancake onto the plate, joining it with the full stack. “She was killed two years ago.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t have to look at her to know the guilt would be all over her expression, replacing the jealous Bucky was _pretty_ sure had been there a second ago. Now, why she would feel jealous, Bucky didn’t have the slightest idea.

“I’m didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her arm as if cold, the long sleeves of his sweater hanging past her fingertips. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Yeah. It was.” Bucky paused, bracing his hands on the counter after turning off the burner. He allows his tail to unwind from around his leg, having to be careful not to bang it against the cabinets in its agitated state. “I wanted to track down her killer myself, but by the time I knew what had happened, Strange was the new leader and the bastard who had killed her was dead.”

It was unfair of him to hold that against Strange, robbing him of his chance of revenge. But Bucky had been so angered by her death, angry at himself he couldn’t prevent it, and no one who seemed to care or understand. Wong was a decent guy, but he wasn’t exactly the drinking buddy-type, and Strange was… a pompous jackass.

Master Drumm would have been Bucky’s first choice of someone to confide in, he’d always been kind to Bucky, but he’d been killed in the attack too. Bucky hadn’t felt that alone in a long, long time.

He could still remember it so distinctly. That sharp pang of losing someone, of being left behind. Of being lost. It should have been a familiar feeling, something he was used to, but it hurt with the same amount of devastating pain every single time—

There was a gentle warmth on his bare forearm, drawing his attention down to it, then up to the girl’s face. Bucky hadn’t even realized she’d moved.

“Bucky,” she said in a quiet voice. “Are you okay?”

Such a simple question shouldn’t have left him reeling, but it did. He stared down at her, having no idea what to say, especially to her. Why was she asking Bucky if _he_ was okay?

“I’m fine,” he said, the lie sticking in his throat. He turned toward the pancakes, hoping she would get the hint. “You should eat before—“

A startled noise made its way out of him when she wrapped her arms snuggly around his chest. She maneuvered under his arm to lay her head against his shoulder, firmly attaching herself to his side.

Bucky was solid stone, not even breathing. Nothing but static in his ears and a dial-tone in his head.

His traitorous tail was working just fine though, and it wrapped itself firmly around her waist as if to draw her closer.

Bucky’s face was on fire, and he wondered if he’d burn up on the spot, banished back to the demon realm. Wouldn’t that just have been a fucking kicker of a way to die.

When he realized she wasn’t about to just let go, he released his held breath and placed a hand on her head, not sure what else to do with it.

_She’s not a dog! Hug her back, you goddamn idiot!_

Hard-swallowing, Bucky lowered his hand to the back of her neck, settling his human hand there in what he hoped was a comforting way. She hugged him tighter, so Bucky took that as a hopeful sign.

He didn’t used to be like this, so awkward and stiff with affectionate touches and simple hugs. He hadn’t realized how _bad _it had gotten until…

…until her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, warmth breath tickling his neck. “You just looked so… sad. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m fine,” he tried again, having to clear his throat so it wouldn’t crack. “But... thanks.”

She eventually pulled away, leaving him suddenly aware of the chilly temperature of the penthouse. Not meeting his eye, staring fixedly on his chest, she said, “I keep doing that. I should be asking you beforehand, especially after what you told me last night. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry—“

Bucky carefully took hold of her hand, interrupting her from the spiral of apologies she was about to go down. He’d traveled that same road, after all.

She lifted her gaze to meet his, slightly widened and lips parted. Bucky had to swallow again, pushing back against the overwhelming desire to taste those lips.

“You can hug me whenever you want, how ‘bout that?”

Her eyes brightened, joyful and jubilant, which made his next words extremely difficult to say.

“But… only when we’re in private.”

Watching her expression dim made him want to reach out, take it back, but it was true. Strange’s people would be watching her more closely now, at least for a while, and they couldn’t know the truth. Not yet.

“Right,” she said, quiet as she looked down at their joined hands.

Hers were soft, so much so that he was afraid his sharp nails would scratch her, so Bucky held her with the faintest grip. It seemed to be how he touched her when he wasn’t feeding, careful to make up for the times he wasn’t. A large part of him was constantly terrified of hurting her, and that fear seemed to grow each day.

Needing to interrupt the heavy silence and find a reason to release her hand, Bucky said in a low tone, “Your phone rang earlier. I think they left a message.”

“Oh. Right. I should go check that.” She smiled, almost bashfully as she pulled away from his hand… and his tail.

Bucky had forgotten the stupid thing was still holding on to her, and he pulled it back quickly, coiling it around his leg again. It didn’t escape his notice that she ducked her head bashfully before leaving the kitchen.

Bucky blew out a breath as he got out the syrup and orange juice. He retrieved additional plates and glasses, unable to think of a time he’d ever needed more than one set, and he went to put them on the table. Couldn’t remember a time when he’d actually ate at the thing, either.

Bucky could hear her on the phone in the bathroom and tried not to pay attention to the words, though he couldn’t exactly turn off his unnaturally sharp hearing. But what did slip through was clearly a heated argument.

_“—I didn’t forget, Mom! I’ve been busy! I haven’t been ignoring you, I just—“_

Bucky winced guiltily. It was almost Christmas and he knew she usually celebrated it with her family. Just another thing Bucky had ruined for her.

Her voice eventually lowered enough that Bucky couldn’t hear the conversation, for which he was grateful. When the bathroom door opened, he expected to find her flustered and still angry.

Instead, she seemed nervous, avoiding his eye as she approached the table, chewing her lip in thought. She’d also taken the time to dress in her old clothes that Bucky had laid out for her, clean and dried.

He didn’t acknowledge the brief flicker of disappointment he felt.

“So…” She didn’t sit down, instead standing behind one of the chairs and resting her hand on its back. “I’m leaving tonight to go home for Christmas.”

“Okay.”

He bit his tongue, wanting to say that was a horrible idea considering what had just happened with the heigore, but she seemed to have more to say, so he remained silent.

“And I won’t be back until after New Year’s.”

Bucky blinked. He couldn’t have heard right. “But that’s a week, no, more than a week you’d be away.”

“Yep,” she answered, tapping her finger on the chair.

Bucky pulled out another chair at the head of the table and sat down, bracing his elbows on his thighs as he rubbed his face. He hated to do this to her, but they had no choice.

“You can’t go. You know that, right? We would need to… There would have to be another feeding before then.”

“I know.” Again she spoke in that airy, anxious tone as she tapped her fingernail against the chair. “I know that.”

“So then why are you—“

“Come with me.”

Bucky stiffened. Then looked up at her.

“Repeat that?”

“I said, come with me.”

There was definitely a nervous energy in her voice as she spoke faster, almost as if afraid Bucky would interrupt.

“Come with me, back home for Christmas. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Whenever you need to feed, I’ll be right there. And if there are any more demons around, you’ll also be there to protect me. You can even tell that to the sorcerers. It’s a win-win for everybody.”

Bucky gaped in silence for too long, and she stumbled over her next words.

“I mean, unless you already have plans for the holidays—“

“No, I don’t, I—that’s not the—_Are you serious?”_

He was on his feet now, incredulous and floored at her for even considering this. “You do remember what I am, don’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed quickly, her brows thunderous as she took a step toward him, unafraid when Bucky practically towered over her.

“Yeah, you’re a demon. So what. You think I didn’t consider that beforehand?”

“Okay, you considered it the whole five minutes you were in the bathroom. What a well-thought out plan,” he said, dripping sarcasm. “Let me tell you something right now. You don’t want me, a goddamn _demon_, around your _family_—“

“—No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to decide what _I_ want.”

She was standing in front of him now, a finger pressed against his chest, her expression absolutely fuming.

“Listen to me, Bucky. I know you, and I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. You go above and beyond just to keep me safe. I_ trust_ you.”

Her words robbed him of his own, and Bucky stood there in silence. She searched his eyes, her expression softening the smallest amount as her voice dropped into a more reasonable tone.

“You can make yourself look human. My family won’t know the difference, so why does it matter? The fact is, it doesn’t. It’s a good plan that’ll address all our issues, so all I ask is you stop and consider it, actually _consider _it, before you veto it.”

She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, squaring up like Bucky had seen Steve do in too many back-alleys.

“I haven’t seen my family in months, Bucky. It’s the reason I took time off work to begin with. I’m going whether you like it or not, so you can either come with me tonight.”

She lifted her chin in defiance.

“Or you come out to Boston in a few days when I’m in excruciating agony. Your call.”

She was out of her mind. A lunatic. A girl on a suicide mission with no sense in her head.

He’d never wanted to kiss her so badly in his entire life.

Bucky also crossed his arms to prevent himself from doing any such thing. “And how are you gonna explain it to your family when I show up on their doorstep?”

The fury evaporated off her face, and Bucky was curious to witness the sheepish angle of her brows return.

“I already told my mom you might be coming. She, uh… asked if you were my boyfriend, and I… didn’t correct her.”

_“You didn’t…”_

Bucky’s voice was faint, mainly because he couldn’t take a breath properly. This girl was going to be the death of him.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want me to spend Christmas with your family, and not only lie to them about me being a demon, but that we’re also… dating.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Bucky nodded. “This is officially insane.”

To his surprise, she actually laughed. It wasn’t a mean laugh either, but a warm, honest one, her head tilted at an amused angle.

“Bucky, this entire situation is insane. I mean, we’re having sex on a weekly basis so we both don’t die. It doesn’t get any weirder than that.”

And just like that, the fight vanished out of him like hot air out of a balloon. He could actually feel his shoulders loosen and the frown on his lips fade away. It was hard to argue with her when she was staring up at him with that teasing fondness back on her face.

She was right. There was nothing safe or normal about any of this. Maybe Bucky was the one being a stubborn idiot.

At the moment, anyway. He was still fully convinced she had a death-wish of some kind, so it wouldn’t hurt to be able to have a cover story for being able to stick close to her side.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he grumbled as he pulled his hand away from his face, rolling his eyes. “No one’s taken me home to meet their parents in over seventy-five years.”

“Is that a yes?” The mischievous light in her eyes should have been a sign for Bucky to abort mission, but… he was quickly realizing his ability to refuse her of anything was diminishing by the day.

“It’s a yes,” Bucky sighed. Barely got out the words before she was barreling into his chest once more, wrapping him in an impressive bear-hug.

Having a sneaking suspicious she was figuring out exactly how to win every argument against him, Bucky found he didn’t much care if she did. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his wings unfurling to droop around her without him telling them to do so.

Bucky had promised himself he wouldn’t let this continue, but being trapped in a house with her, allowed to be close and touch her and pretend he was something he wasn’t? It was going to test every ounce of willpower he had to let her go afterwards.

Bucky didn’t know if he would have the strength to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky: *internally* She would never want me. I'm a disgusting, evil demon.  
Reader: *internally* do u think he'll bone me with his tail again


	19. Sanguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky make the drive back home where he’s introduced to the family as your fake boyfriend. Absolutely everything is going to go great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month since the last update! I'm so sorry! Have some fluff in apologies. Thank you for all of your comments, they're too funny. I love you all.

The trip from New York to Boston was four hours filled with awkward silence. The only sounds to punctuate the tension were those of the drive itself, the hum of the engine, the sound of the windshield wipers, and the hiss of tires on wet pavement.

It was snowing fairly heavily, so when Bucky had offered to drive, you hadn’t given it a second thought. Chances of icy roads were high, and you figured he probably had some fast demon reflexes he could rely on to get you there safely.

Plus, it gave you an excuse to sneak subtle glances while he drove. Bucky was distractedly handsome in profile, and you wondered if he understood just _how_ attractive he was. Even with his demon features hidden, tucked away under a kind of magical illusion you still didn’t understand, there was something about him that was… different. Like he was just a little too perfect to exist in the real world.

Or maybe you had it worse than you thought. You had half-hoped your feelings for him after the heigore attack had been the result of your close brush with death. That you had just been overwhelmed with gratitude and your self-confession had been a mistake. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case, and with each feeding you were only falling deeper in love with Bucky.

This trip, having him spend time with your family, in your childhood home, was only going to make it worse.

_Shit._

The click of the turn signal drew you from your thoughts, and you looked out the snow-battered windshield to find the car exiting on the off-ramp. You hadn’t been paying attention but Bucky had known which exit to take without your guidance. An overwhelming mixture of emotions bubbled in your chest. You didn’t know what to do with them.

Ten minutes of navigating the streets of suburban Boston and you reached your destination. Bucky pulled up to the curb, put the car in park, and turned off the ignition. You couldn’t stop staring up at the two-story house, looking quaint and delicate covered in fresh snow. You hadn’t been here since last Christmas, and you didn’t know how to feel about it now. Too many things had happened and you weren’t the same. The last person who had walked into that house was a stranger to you now.

“Ready?”

Maybe he sensed your trepidation because Bucky’s question was soft and patient. You gave him a quick nod, unable to meet his eye. If you did, you’d start blushing all over again, reminded of how insane this plan was. But it was _your _plan, and if anything you were stubborn enough to see it through.

You got out of the car, immediately shivering and pulling your coat tighter around you as the snowflakes hit your face. You quickly opened the backseat and pulled out the carrier, shielding it with your body so poor Monster wouldn’t get pelted with snow.

You had always taken Monster on you with trips back home, and this would be no exception, even when Bucky had told you ‘the little beast can make it there on his own.’ When you asked what he meant, he’d tried to explain interdimensional travel through ‘wrinkles in physical space’ but your brain had shut off around that point. It had sounded more like a Tony Stark thing than hobgoblin magic, but what the hell did you know about cracks in the foundation of the physical realm?

Hurrying up to the front step, you shivered and scraped your boots on the doormat. You were just about to reach up to the doorbell when a strong arm wrapped around your shoulders.

You looked up at Bucky and he gave you a raised, amused brow. _Right._ Stage one of your plan and you’d already forgotten. Operation: Pretend to Have a Hot Boyfriend Who is Clearly Way out of Your League.

With an arm still slung around your shoulder Bucky reached up and pressed the doorbell. You clutched the carrier nervously, swallowing as the chimes echoed inside the house, accompanied by the sound of barking.

You’d forgotten Uncle Walter was bringing one of his dogs.

_Shit. Shit._

Bucky stiffened beside you and your heart raced in panic. What if the dogs could sense he was a demon? They could tell these things, couldn’t they? Monster seemed to like Bucky, but he wasn’t a typical cat, and you were realizing you might be in over your head way more than you had originally thought—

The door swung open and you were pulled into a pair of warm arms in a tight hug before you could open your mouth to say hi. Bucky managed to retrieve the carrier from your hand as your mother hugged you tightly, squeezing the rest of the air out of your lungs.

“I missed you so much, sweetie! How was the drive? Did you have any trouble getting here? They said it was going to snow at least five inches and I know your car doesn’t handle the snow. You really should buy a new one, I keep telling you to—Oh, hello. You must be Jacob.”

Your mother finally released you, allowing you to breathe and try to sort out her whirlwind of questions, but all you could do was watch with a pounding heart as she turned to face Bucky.

You’d planned out most of the details of your fake relationship on the drive over. How long you’d been dating, where you’d met, etc. etc. It helped that Bucky already had a false identity that any of your family could look up if they wanted to (and they would, knowing how nosey they were), but…

…it didn’t prepare you for the actual encounter. Bucky had assured you he could handle himself, but now you were terrified. Not for your family for having a demon in their midst, but for the poor demon that was about to be exposed to the embarrassment that was your family.

“I am, ma’am,” Bucky said with a smooth, charming smile full of white teeth. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You blinked. The person you were looking at wasn’t Bucky. Or if it was, he was a Bucky you didn’t know. There was a bright, sincere smile on his face, lighting up his blue eyes in ways you didn’t think was possible. He held out his hand to her, the absolute picture of a polite gentleman, and you didn’t recognize the grump, cantankerous demon you’d come to know at all.

Your mom broke into a smile herself, something you’d never seen her do with a stranger before.

“Oh, come here, give me a hug.”

Before you could say anything, she drew Bucky into a tight hug, leaving you stunned and speechless. She had never warmed up to any of the (few) boyfriends you’d brought home, and now she was embracing him like Bucky was…

…part of the family.

_Oh, no._

What was possibly worse was the vaguely amused smile Bucky was giving you over her shoulder. You couldn’t blame him; the look on your face was probably quite the sight.

By the time your mother pulled back from the hug, Bucky’s charming poster boy smile was back on his face. Where he’d learned to do that, you had no idea, but your mother seemed immediately enamored.

Greeting Aunt Rena and Uncle Walter next was more intense. Not because of them, they were both sweet and welcoming to Bucky, but because of the dog. They’d left most of their small herd of Chihuahuas at home, thankfully, and Uncle Walter had only brought the one—his oldest. She was an ancient thing, white fur covering her face, but she ran up to Bucky as if she had very important business to attend to.

Bucky froze as if the dog was a Doberman and not a wad of fur that barely weighed five pounds. She sniffed at the toes of his boots, and then his ankles, unable to reach higher, and she stared up at him through big glassy eyes.

When you sure she was about to start growling or barking, warning the humans of the demon amongst them, she jumped up onto her hind legs and scratched at his leg, wagging her tail and drawing her lips back into a doggy grin.

“Honey never likes anyone,” Aunt Rena said with a startled look at your uncle before looking back to Bucky. “You must be a dog-person.”

Bucky had knelt down and cautiously put his right hand forward after pulling off the glove. He kept his demonic arm covered, and would have to do so for the entire trip, but he let the dog sniff his human hand.

When he went to pet her, she jumped up and licked his chin, startling a laugh out of him. Like all the other rare times you’d heard him laugh, it left you warm and flushed and gawking like an idiot.

“Yeah, I used to be,” Bucky answered, still smiling. He had pulled the little Chihuahua into his arms where she squirmed happily, still trying to lick his face. “Haven’t had a dog in a few years.”

There was a hint of wistful sadness there so faint you wondered if anyone else but you noticed. You hoped they didn’t. It was stupid and childish, but you were starting to feel… jealous? Left out? Over the fact everyone adored your fake boyfriend, and he seemed to like them back.

“I’m going to go get the bags,” you said, setting down Monster’s carrier and opening the door. The hobgoblin sauntered his way out of the cage and peered around as if looking over his kingdom.

Honey hunkered down in Bucky’s arms, trembling and whining at the sight of the pseudo-cat. The dogs had always been terrified of Monster, even though he’d largely ignored them, and now you knew why. Apparently they were fine with demons, but hobgoblins went too far.

“I’ll grab them,” Bucky immediately volunteered with an easy smile, setting the Chihuahua gently on the ground. You narrowed your eyes at him, seeing right through his attempts to win over your family, which was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. So why were you suddenly so annoyed about it?

“Be right back.”

Bucky kissed you on the head before retreating out the front door, and just like that, your annoyance was gone and filled instead with mortifying embarrassment when all three adults gave you various expressions of affectionate fondness and teasing.

You didn’t know if anyone had ever died from being kissed on the forehead, but if not, you were going to be the first.

Bucky brought in the bags and your mother directed him up to the guest bedroom. You were trapped downstairs for the next half hour with the obligatory catching up with your family, which was a trial even during the best of times, let alone right now when you were desperate to get away to talk to Bucky. He hadn’t come back downstairs since putting away the bags, and you’d wondered where he’d disappeared to.

Sure, they were _your_ family, but you didn’t want to have to suffer with them alone.

When you were able to finally excuse yourself, pointedly ignoring your mother’s curious look, you went upstairs and found Bucky in the guest bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression blank and far away. The snow in his hair had melted and dried, leaving his long brown strands slightly wavy.

“Bucky?”

He drew in a sharp breath and looked up at you, blinking before rubbing his face.

“Sorry. Was… lost in thought. I didn’t mean to—I can come down if—“

You interrupted him by sitting beside him on the bed, close enough for your arm to brush his, but you didn’t reach out to touch him. You had a suspicion as to what had happened, and your stomach churned uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry about my family. They’re a little weird at first, but they mean well. I can tell them to lay off if they’re being too much.”

To your surprise, Bucky merely smiled. It was close-lipped and soft, but somehow still warm. Once you met his eye you couldn’t look away, and a part of you wondered if he realized the hold he had on you. A power that had nothing to do with demon pacts and bonds.

“It’s not that. Your aunt and uncle are wonderful, and your mom is… She reminds me of my own mother.”

It took everything in your power not to reach out and hug him, and you gripped the edge of the better tighter so you wouldn’t.

“What’s wrong, then?”

Bucky chewed his lip and looked away. It wasn’t until his gaze fell on the closet on the opposite side of the room that it finally clicked for you.

“Oh.” The breath rushed out of you as if you’d been gut-punched. “I didn’t… think to warn you.”

Of all the things you could have forgotten, how could you forget to tell him you would be staying in your old room? The room where he’d first come through the portal. Where the pact had first been made. Where you’d first met in an encounter you didn’t remember, the memories taken away by Bucky himself?

“This is where your bed used to be,” he said, slightly patting the mattress you were both sitting on. “Only it was sideways against the wall. You had a dresser over there. Some kind of poster on that wall; I think it had dinosaurs on it. And…”

His brows furrowed but a small smile touched his lips. “A large stuffed animal cat in that corner. You really liked cats, didn’t you?”

You hunched your shoulders, but it was too late to stop the warmth on your cheeks. He really remembered all that?

“Yeah. Cats were my thing, I guess.”

Remaining quiet for a moment, you finally had the courage to ask. “Should… should we rent a hotel? I mean, if it’s too… too weird staying here. Because of… you know. The whole portal thing… and… all that.”

“Why would it be weird for me?”

His genuinely confused tone forced you to look him in the face. He really didn’t seem to understand what you were getting at judging by the furrow on his brow.

“It sounded like it had been kind of traumatizing for you, right?” you asked. “I mean, I really don’t mind if you want to go somewhere else—“

He said your name, softly and with so much fondness it made your face burn again.

“I don’t think I’ve made this clear, but… you saved me that day. Did you know that?”

You shook your head, eyes firmly planted on the faded pink carpet under your feet.

“Well, you did,” he continued, his voice a gentle rumble that sent chills up your spine. “I was in a literal Hell before I came through that portal. And I was trapped there for a long, long time. I don’t know how you did it, and frankly, I don’t really care. I’m just grateful it happened, though I wish…”

You chanced a glance up at him when he stopped speaking, forcing yourself to meet his eye no matter how difficult it was. This seemed important to him, so it was important to you, too.

His blue eyes roved over your face slowly, as if memorizing every detail, and it was very difficult to keep still under that piercing stare. It had always had the strange effect of both making you want to hide from it while also making you want to drown in it.

“I wish what had followed hadn’t happened. If I hadn’t accepted that toy from you, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be trapped, forced to be a… a sex slave.”

“A _sex slave?”_ You scoffed, looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Bucky, I’m not a—“

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, desperate and earnest, as if needing you to understand. “That’s exactly what you are. No matter how we dress it up. You bringing me home to your family doesn’t change that. Nothing will.”

You turned away from him, now out of frustration rather than shyness.

“Bucky, we’ve been over this already. However this happened, whatever the situation is, I’m not going to blame you. You’re not a monster, you’re not hurting me, and I refuse to hate you no matter how much you hate yourself.”

He opened his mouth to argue but you beat him to it, and interrupted him to say, “I like you, Bucky. Okay? I like you a lot. So… shut up.”

His brows rose high on his forehead and you flushed but refused to look away, ready to argue with him if he refused to listen.

But all Bucky did was smile the tiniest amount and said, “I haven’t had someone tell me to shut up in a long time. Maybe it was due.”

He was definitely teasing you now, and the tension in your shoulders relaxed. You much preferred teasing over self-loathing.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you say dumb stuff.” You raised your chin, daring him to contradict you. “You’re kind, likeable. Charming. My family is already about to adopt you and they’ve known you for less than a day.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause they don’t_ know_ me. If anything, they’re fond of the chipper, bright-eyed idiot I used to be. That’s where I’m pulling that act from. My methods may be a few decades old but parents are parents.”

“You weren’t an idiot,” you said softly, remembering now the pictures you had pulled up when you first researched the demon you’d encountered in your bedroom. He really had been the starry-eyed youth Bucky described, but you remembered very clearly the stark difference between some pictures during the war. The ones where he’d looked like any other young man in his 20s, excited to go off and fight for his country.

And then there had been the ones where he’d still smiled at the camera, but his cheeks had been gaunt, the circles under his eyes dark, and the glaze of his eyes had been haunting.

The after-HYDRA pictures.

Blowing out a breath, trying to expel your sadness physically as well as mentally, you leaned your head against his shoulder. You waited to see if he tensed or moved away, but all you felt was the warm hardness of the plates of his arm underneath his jacket.

“You don’t know that,” Bucky said, voice equally soft. “I could have been the biggest idiot in the world. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was. Steve would agree with me.”

“Steve Rogers?” you asked, perking up. Captain Rogers’ backstory was practically known to everyone on the planet, and you’d waited for Bucky to mention him. You’d never imagined you’d get to know Steve Rogers’ best friend. Or that his best friend had turned into a demon.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said, voice lilted with amusement. You took it as a sign that this was a safe topic, so you pressed on.

“What was he like?”

Bucky snorted again, and you weren’t expecting the arm that wrapped around your shoulders. You prayed he didn’t feel your heart thumping against your ribcage.

“Reckless. Too eager to jump into a fight he knew he would lose. Stupid and brave in equal parts. Reminds me of you, actually.”

“Thanks.”

He chuckled at your dry tone. “I mean it, though. About the brave thing. Most people would have turned tail and run at the first sight of me.”

You shrugged under his arm, nestling your cheek against his shoulder.

“I’m not brave. I’m afraid, all the time, of lots of things. But you didn’t scare me.”

He squeezed his arm tighter around you and a pleasant warmth prickled along your skin.

“You probably should have been. Not very smart of you to try and befriend a demon.”

“Hmm. Guess we’re both idiots then, huh.”

“Guess so.”

After a few seconds of silence, you added, “So, we’re definitely friends then, right?”

“Oh, my God,” he groaned.

“You did say I befriended a demon—“

_“Woman.”_

You snorted out a laugh, and his long-suffering sigh brought out a few more muffled giggles. He was too easy a target, and you were pretty sure he liked the teasing regardless of how much he moaned and groaned about it.

Besides, he hadn’t contradicted you. Knowing that he saw you as at least a friend, if nothing else, made the trip already worthwhile.

You could have remained like that for the rest of the day, leaning against Bucky’s warm side with his heavy arm around your shoulders. Hell, you would have been content with this for the rest of your life.

Did Bucky have any idea how you felt? What would he have thought, if he did? Knowing his levels of self-loathing, he wouldn’t be ready to hear it.

Which was one of the reasons you had invited him on this trip. All the excuses you had given Bucky were true: you had the feeding to think about, and there was the possibility of other demons lurking around.

But the true reason you’d asked him to come was to show him how you felt. That you trusted him, cared for him, and wanted him to be a part of your life, bond or not. There was always the chance it would backfire and that he would push you away again, but you would rather try and fail then never try at all. Imagining leaving Bucky alone during the holidays, holed up in that freezing tower, was unacceptable.

He would just have to suffer with overbearing family, Christmas carols on the TV, and heavily-spiked eggnog with you instead.

“We should probably go back downstairs,” Bucky said, gentle puffs of air tickling your hair. “Don’t want them to think I abducted you.”

“Mmm.”

You’d meant to say something more intelligent than that, but you hadn’t realized how tired you were from packing this morning and then the drive. It was getting close to dinnertime, and you could already smell the spices from something being cooked downstairs.

“Come on.”

Bucky easily lifted you to your feet and you protested with a resentful sigh. His returning smile made your stomach do funny flips, but it was nothing compared to the squirming it did when you remembered you would be sharing a bed with Bucky for the next few days.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I worry you with that summary lol see everything is fine :)) nah but for real the self-indulgent fluff won't have much angst (she said like a liar) but things are going to get upsetting eventually. But that's not for a while, so please enjoy this fake dating portion of the fic. Thank you.


	20. Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky reveals some of the worst parts of his time with HYDRA. But when he starts to spiral, you're there to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... it's me... ya boi.
> 
> Between life upheavals, distractions, and chronic pain, it took me a lot longer to update this than I would have liked. Thank you for all of your kind words and messages. This one is a bit shorter but I feel like it's an important chapter for many reasons.
> 
> The summary is a not-so-subtle nod to "The Downward Spiral," the second work in AraniaArt's demon!Bucky series where all of the terrible HYDRA stuff happens. If you haven't [read this series yet](https://archiveofourown.org/series/582637), I highly recommend it. Especially with my slower updates it'll give you a demon!Bucky overdose, and it's just a very well written story overall. Definitely one of my favorites, hence why I wrote a fan sequel, and Arania was kind enough to let me borrow her Bucky.
> 
> Plus... it's got incredibly sexy fan art. If you ever wanted to see what Bucky's demon dick looks like, now's the time. Monster-fuckers rejoice.
> 
> Thank you again for all your support. It means the world to me. Now, back to the dark comedy that is Reader's life.
> 
> Chapter warnings: References to past sexual abuse/rape, internalized victim-blaming, angst resolved with cuddles

You’d thought Bucky would be difficult when it came to the bed-sharing situation.

You were wrong. He was _impossible._

The rest of the day had gone surprisingly well. Your family had behaved themselves, except for when Uncle Walter had asked how Bucky’s arm had been “burned.” The cover story was he was a war veteran, which was entirely true, just for a different war. He’d been too close to a firebomb and he’d suffered third degree burns.

Bucky seemed to have found that part of the story funny when he’d told it to you. Something about demons and fire and how he actually couldn’t be burned. You hadn’t found it funny at all.

Your mother had shot Uncle Walter a glare at the question, but Bucky had simply smiled and recounted the false tale. He was the perfect gentleman and doting boyfriend; not even your protective family could find fault with him.

And you? Every time he slung his arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head, you died a little more inside.

Perhaps with how smooth everything had been going, you should have expected it to hit a wall that night.

You’d gotten into bed, scooting over to make room for Bucky, but he hadn’t joined you. He wouldn’t even look you in the eye, his shoulders stiff and his posture rigid.

“I’ll take the couch downstairs,” he said when you looked up at him expectantly.

It was not the response you’d been expecting, and your voice was a little too sharp.

“Downstairs? _Why?”_

Bucky met your eye then, the blue in his eyes going dark. You knew that look.

“Because it’ll be safer for the both of us.”

_“Safer?”_ Your voice nearly cracked as you bolted upright. “What the hell does that mean?”

You thought you’d been through this. You really had. You trusted him, knew he would never hurt you, so why was he still—

Bucky’s gaze seemed to waver, but his voice was steady. Almost flat. “I would be more comfortable sleeping downstairs.”

His response effectively killed your anger. A sharp ache in your chest took its place, leaving you somewhat bewildered.

“Okay,” was all you said. You wouldn’t force Bucky to do anything he didn’t want to, even if… even if it meant you’d spend the night alone.

Bucky paused, hovering as if there was something he wanted to say, but he turned and left without a word.

For the first time, you felt genuinely afraid it wasn’t going to get any better than this. That Bucky would only touch you, be near you, when the bond forced him to.

You didn’t sleep that night, or if you did, it was only for an hour or two. You could barely function the next day, but you warded off the questions from your mother and ignored the looks from your aunt and uncle. You could only imagine what they all thought about Bucky sleeping downstairs.

At around two in the afternoon, when you’d started to doze off while watching TV with your family, you excused yourself and went back upstairs to bed. You could barely keep up the act of being Bucky’s girlfriend, not with so little sleep and the ache in your chest growing with every look Bucky gave you. Every faked touch and every false bit of affection was wearing you down, slowly but inevitably.

You were starting to hate it. You wanted it to be real so badly that it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The last thing you wanted was to be resentful towards Bucky, but your patience was a threadbare strand held over a burning candle.

When you crawled into the guest bed and closed your eyes, the faint afternoon sun caused your old pink curtains to fill the room with a rosy light. When you woke up, the room was dark and you were no longer alone.

You sucked in a sharp breath before recognizing Bucky’s familiar silhouette as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He said nothing, but you refused to speak first, simply waited curled up on your side on top of the covers. When he did finally say something, his voice was low and very quiet.

“Do you know how scared I am?”

You frowned and leaned up on one elbow, trying and failing to see the expression on his face.

“Scared of what?” It felt like one of those moments where if you spoke too loudly, something dark and ominous would hear you, so you spoke as quietly as he did.

“That I’m going to hurt you.” You could hear something rustling, skin on cloth. His tail was on the covers next to you. He had dropped his guise for this. “And you’ll finally see me for what I am.”

You released a heavy breath.

“Bucky…”

“No. Listen to me.”

The bed creaked as he shifted towards you, though he still sat on the edge of the bed, too far for comfort. You wanted to reach out and touch him but refrained.

“I’ve lived a very long life,” he said. “Most of it doing terrible things. It doesn’t really matter that I didn’t have a choice, I still live with those memories and nothing can change that.”

You closed your mouth. This felt different than the other times he’d tried to push you away. This felt like he was trying to do the opposite.

“I’ve taken… so many lives. To the extent that I’ve lost count of the bodies. When HYDRA tried to erase my memories, they told me I was a _literal demon_. That I possessed the body of a dead soldier and was summoned to serve them. I was their weapon of terror. A ghost their rivals whispered about in fear. Even those within HYDRA didn’t know if I truly existed, and the possibility kept them all in line.”

Bucky released a slow, trembling breath. You remained frozen, unable to do anything but listen as his words grew heavier.

“But even before they broke me, when I was still myself, the demon part of me did… evil things. HYDRA captured an Allied soldier. He was my age, scared, just wanted to go home. He could have been me or… or someone I knew.”

He paused, and in the silence of the room you could hear the click of him dry-swallowing.

“It didn’t matter, because HYDRA had starved me as punishment and threw us in a cell together.”

You knew what he was going to say, and the dread filled you like watching a train heading for a broken track.

“I raped him.”

You could feel the tremble through the bed as Bucky shuttered.

“I couldn’t stop it. I was starving, and even with the pheromones making his body respond, I knew he was afraid. I did it anyway. And then they ordered me to kill him.”

Bucky’s voice had gone flat, emotionless, and that was somehow worse than the shaking.

“That wasn’t the only time. After… after HYDRA killed me, sent me to that demon realm, and then I came back through the portal… I was starving. I lost control, again. And that’s when the wizards found me.”

Your eyes had adjusted enough to the dark for you to see Bucky’s bowed head, the curtain of his hair shielding his face.

“You know the rest.”

Carefully, you reached your hand across the bed and gently touched his human arm. Even through the thick fabric of his jacket you could feel the tremble under your fingers.

“I’m… not going to pretend I know what you’ve experienced, because I don’t know,” you said. “I just want to say I’m sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry you had to suffer. And I’m sorry that because of what was done to you, you feel like you don’t deserve to be happy.”

Bucky said nothing, but from the way his shoulders tensed, he didn’t have to. You’d guessed correctly what all his gruff, prickly behavior meant. How he seemed to care one moment and be aloof the next. Hot and cold. It didn’t have anything to do with you, not really. It was a defense mechanism, and Bucky wasn’t as slick as he thought he was. He couldn’t fool you, not when you were well-practiced in the art of pushing away people yourself.

“I’m telling you right now, and you’re just going to have to trust me on this, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.” You could practically _feel_ him about to argue, so you quickly said, “And not because of the bond, but because I want to be here. I think I have a decent understanding of how dangerous demons are, and I know you would never hurt me on purpose. That’s all we can really ask of anyone, isn’t it?”

When your speech was met with silence, your confidence deflated like a balloon.

“So… yeah. You’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

More of the same silence. You didn’t have any idea if you’d managed to get through to him. You were beginning to wonder if you ever had. Maybe words weren’t enough, and you needed to try a different tact. Anything was better than the heavy, oppressive quiet.

You scooted backwards so you were almost against the wall, tugging on his jacket as you did so.

“Come here,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Come lay down.”

You really hadn’t expected him to listen, so when the mattress dipped next to you and warmth radiated across the small space between you, you almost lost your train of thought entirely. Forcing your attention back on what Bucky needed, because this was about _him _and not _you_, you swallowed thickly and met his gaze in the dark.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

He expelled a shaky breath, heavy as if he’d been holding onto it for a long time.

“Yeah. Course. You… you can always touch me—“

Bucky barely got the words out before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against your chest with a ferocity that surprised even you.

He was larger than you, but you held onto him as if he was precious and fragile. Something you needed to protect from all the bad shit in his past. You rested your chin on top of his head, right on his hair between his horns. It was a little awkward with you both on your sides, but you managed to snake your other arm around the back of his neck. Under your palms and through his jacket, you could feel the hard shell of his compacted wings.

He was warmer than you, and his piney, earthy scent filled you scenes. Something that had been coiled inside you loosened and reached out to him. You wondered if it was the bond, but really, you thought it was just plain ol’ human need.

It took Bucky a longer time to relax than it had for you, but not as long as you would have thought. The tension in his muscles gradually loosened, and his arms which had remained tight at his side cautiously looped around your waist. His nose was pressed against your neck and the puffs of air from his breathing sent goosebumps across your skin.

You pressed even closer, needing more contact, and loosely tangled your legs with his. You faintly smiled against his hair as something hooked under your knee and wrapped around your leg. Bucky might be reluctant to show physical affection, but his tail never was.

The stimulation, feeling so much of Bucky at once in a clear-headed, non-feeding situation… the knowledge that he was letting you hold him like this, after sharing with you what must have been his most painful memories…

A hard lump formed in your throat and your eyes burned. To keep yourself distracted—you were _not_ going to cry—you ran your fingers through Bucky’s hair and focused on the surprisingly soft strands. With his chest pressed so close to yours, you could feel him take each breath, and it was easy to match your breathing to his. Easy and natural, as if this was where you were supposed to be all along.

You continued to pet his hair until your movements became sluggish and your eyelids drifted close. But you didn’t let go of him, even as sleep tugged at you and made your limbs heavy. You didn’t want to miss a moment of this, but you felt comfortable and safe, and it was hard not to relax completely into it.

Buck’s words, when they finally came, were quiet. So quiet you wondered if they were just a part of your dreams.

“Thank you.”


	21. Ascending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gives you a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're not following my [Marvel tumblr blog](https://trashmenofmarvel.tumblr.com/), I thought I would explain here why the updates have stopped.
> 
> I'm writing Branded through to the end and waiting to post new chapters until it's finished. I made a deadline to be done by September, and considering how Branded is now at 120k and there's still a lot of story to tell, I'm going to push the deadline to Halloween. Appropriate since that's when Branded was birthed.
> 
> I just wanted to make sure y'all knew this fic is not abandoned, it's being worked on in private. That seems to be the only way I can finish long fics. Thank you again for your patience and enjoy this little fluffy treat.

You had a plan.

Not a plan to break the demon bond. Or a plan to figure out how many demons were left in the world chasing after you. But it was still an important plan. One that would take skill, cunning, and unending bravery to pull off.

You were going to seduce Bucky.

Yes, technically the two of you had been having sex for the last two months, but that was out of an obligation to stay alive. You were tired of the bond being something you_ let_ happen to you, and wanted to turn it into something that worked _for_ you.

You were 95% sure it would work. After waking up that morning, pulled against Bucky’s chest, you were fairly convinced your feelings weren’t entirely one-sided. You knew he was awake and that it wasn’t Bucky grabbing the closest warm object in his sleep.

His guise was active. He’d told you before there were two instances he couldn’t hold the disguising magic: when he was unconscious, and when he needed to feed to the point of starvation.

So you knew, with no horns out of the corner of your vision and no tail wrapped around your leg, Bucky was fully awake and aware… and was still holding onto you. That didn’t last long, when you stirred and he realized you were awake, but it was a hopeful sign.

It also left your brain mush and your knees weak with need. He kissed you on the forehead, got out of bed, and that was that.

Or so he believed. No more dancing around each other; you were going to fuck Bucky Barnes if it was the last thing you did.

Famous last words. Your sister, her husband, and their infant were visiting because it was Christmas Eve. If anyone was going to see through your false relationship, it was her.

You were certain the secret had been discovered when she pulled you into the kitchen, leaving her baby to be doted on by your mother (who kept sneaking knowing glances at you and Bucky, which did_ not_ help), and gripped you by the shoulders.

Her face was so stern you could almost hear the lecture in your head. _Is Mom pressuring you to get married and have kids again? You deserve better than to have some pretend-boyfriend! Please tell me you didn’t pay him money for this?_

Instead, she pulled you into a fierce hug, squeezed you tightly, and said, “I’m so happy for you!"

You were pretty sure your brain shut down. _Does not compute._

“Uh. Thank. Thank you?”

She pulled back and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling affectionately.

“When Mom told me the news, I was so excited. I mean, I don’t care if you’re in a relationship or not, just as long as you’re happy I’m happy—You are happy, right? Is he treating you well? Do you have open, healthy communication? Does he need the shovel talk? I can give him the shovel talk, please let me give him the shovel talk.”

By the end, you were laughing. It couldn’t be helped. At least you knew this really was your sister and not some imposter.

“I’m happy. Jacob is great.” _Open_ communication? Well… you were getting there. “I don’t think he needs a shovel talk, but I’m not going to stop you because I know you’ve always wanted to give one.”

She gleamed like a kid on… well, Christmas morning.

Something curled in your chest, aching and bittersweet. You pulled her into another hug, gripping her tightly as a lump formed in your throat. If she only knew the truth. You wanted to tell her the truth. Confide in her about Bucky, about the wizards, even about Davin. There was so much that had changed over the last two months, you’d been terrified that you wouldn’t be the same person you were before.

“Hey,” she patted your back softly, “you okay? Like… really okay?”

You nodded quickly, not wanting her to question why you weren’t speaking yet. You weren’t sure you could.

_Fuck, get it together._

You pulled back from her, forced your expression into one of simple happiness, and hoped she wouldn’t see anything deeper.

You were somewhat disappointed when she bought it, but… it wasn’t her fault you had become so good at lying.

The rest of the day was uneventful but fun. You really were happy, for the most part. You weren’t taking for granted the rare opportunity to glue yourself to Bucky’s side and preened when he seemed just as receptive. A very large part of you hoped it was genuine. Each time he put his arm around your shoulder, each kiss on the top of your head, you wanted it to mean something.

Bucky even did it when no one was watching. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

The time for wondering was over. After your sister and her husband went back to their hotel room, Bucky asked if you wanted to go for a walk. There was still snow on the ground but the sky was clear, a large moon illuminating the white and turning it faint blue.

A walk. Walks were romantic. You could do this. _Operation: Seduce Bucky Barnes _was a-go.

Your hand was warm in his as he gently pulled you across the snowfield behind the house. You’d thought maybe he would take you on a stroll around the neighborhood, but this was just as good, even if your footing wasn’t as steady and you had to grip his arm for balance.

Hmm, maybe this was better.

After a few minutes of walking in silence through a copse of pine trees, Bucky stopped and let go of your hand.

“Should be safe here.”

You blinked as he stripped off his scarf and his jacket.

Oh. Were you… going to do it right here? Well, it would be cold and wet and dirty, but you’d be down for—

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a body that would put Greek statues to shame. You stared, probably drooled a little, and stood as still as a deer as he approached. Bucky stood so close you could feel his body heat like a furnace, but all he did was wrap your head in his scarf and slipped your arms into his jacket.

“You’re going to need it,” he answered to your confused blinking.

“Uh…”

Whatever you were going to say died out as dark, webbed wings arched from his back, curling and stretching over his head. At the same moment, a mirage-like shimmer wavered above his head, and his horns formed into existence along with his tapered ears. His tail tickled the side of your knee, greeting you like an affectionate cat.

You didn’t think Bucky would appreciate the comparison.

“Hang onto this for me, will ya?”

Bucky handed you his balled up shirt. You took it out of reflex, but still didn’t understand what he was—

He retreated a few feet, an impish smile on his lips. And then he turned, spread his wings, and gave one enormous flap.

You nearly stumbled back, raising your hand to shield your face as dusts of snow kicked upwards, but then the air cleared and you got a perfect view of Bucky soaring into the night sky. Each rise and fall of his wings was accompanied by a low whoosh, like rumbling leather, and it sounded exactly like you’d imagine webbed wings to sound.

But to see it in action was…

You strode forward, head tilted back as you watched him circle the field above you. He was flying low, maybe twenty-five feet in the air, just enough to ruffle your hair and dislodge wisps of snow.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your entire life, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was like… seeing a real unicorn. Or a dragon. Something magical you’d wanted to see your entire life but never dared to dream could be real.

And here he was. Beautiful and real and… and he cared for you. He did, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have showed you this otherwise.

Before you could get caught in a loop of “he loves me, he loves me not,” Bucky banked at the end of the field and flew back to you, barely flapping his wings as he glided at a gentle angle to land in front of you, lightly disturbing the snow.

You were grinning like an idiot, but this was a grin-like-an-idiot situation and could be forgiven.

“That was… amazing.”

Bucky’s smile was more reined in than yours, but his eyes sparkled with that same mischievous light as before.

“You think so, huh?”

He didn’t give you time to answer before he stepped forward, bent down, and scooped you up in his arms. You yelped and clung to his chest on instinct, the breath rushing out of you at the feel of all that hot, bare skin. You didn’t normally get to see him so exposed, let alone touch him like this.

When had been the last time you’d done so? That first night when the demon bond had caught you both by surprise? Bucky had been so uninhibited that night. Raw and uncontrolled. He’d even _kissed_ you, something he hadn’t done since.

If only there was some way to—

Your scheming thoughts were scattered as he raised his wings behind his back, his head tilted as he looked down at you.

“Ready?” The smirk was back.

“Uh, ready for what?”

He rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious, and it kind of was. Your brain was slow to catch up, distracted by all the _Bucky _you had access to under your hands.

“Oh, oh no, no, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, panic rising. “I mean, aren’t I too heavy for you to carry? What if I make you crash? What if—”

Bucky scoffed, and that was all the warning you got before his wings rushed downward and you were both launched into the air.

It was like going up the steep incline of a roller-coaster, and your stomach dropped like angry ballast. You clung to Bucky’s neck for dear life and buried your face in his shoulder. He wouldn’t drop you on purpose, but what if he lost his grip? What if he couldn’t get high enough and flew into a tree?

The possibilities were endless and you clung to him even tighter. The sound of his chuckle was felt more than heard over the freezing rush of wind, and you understood why he’d wrapped your hair in a scarf.

And then the wind died down apart from the downdraft caused by his wings.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You slowly raised your head and immediately lost your breath. The ground glowed in the moonlight far below you, but the truly stunning view was the city spread out in the distance, twinkling lights a reflection of the constellations above.

“I’m flying with the wind so it shouldn’t bother you too much.” Bucky sounded almost nervous; as if unsure you could somehow not be impressed with the gorgeous sight before you.

But you were impressed. And the city was pretty cool, too.

“It’s perfect.” You leaned your forehead against his jaw, arms still looped around his neck for comfort rather than out of fear. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, turning his face to press his lips to your forehead. Normally such a gesture would have left you flustered and speechless, but you were too busy being horrified.

“Oh, no!”

“What?” His tone was sharp, alert, as if he expected the next demon to somehow attack them in midair.

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder.

“I didn’t get you a Christmas present.”

Bucky barked so hard with laughter he wobbled in the air for a moment, and you clung to him even tighter, your stomach clenching as you tried not to look down.

“That’s what’s got you so worried? Really?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and I haven’t gotten your present yet. This is a serious matter!”

Bucky snorted. He eased his wings into a shallow angle and slowly banked back toward the field.

“Don’t worry. I think I’ll live.”

You frowned, turning your face back into his neck to shield it from the biting wind that had returned. This was no good. Sure, you’d been distracted by wizards and heigores and learning your demon not-boyfriend had a million-dollar penthouse in Brooklyn, but that was no excuse for forgetting something so important.

In comparison to taking you on a nighttime flight and aerial view of the city, seducing Bucky seemed pathetic in comparison.

Well, you decided as he gently touched down in the snow-filled field, you’d just have to make sure it was the best sex Bucky’d had in a century.


	22. Synergy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting aside your doubts and trepidation, you finally show Bucky how you really feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some hot demon-on-human action.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Alcohol use, explicit sexual content with a non-human entity

_ _

_Operation: Seduce Bucky Barnes_… had stalled.

There you’d been, standing in the snowfield, bathed in moonlight like a scene straight out of a romance. He’d been right there, shirtless and too unbelievably gorgeous to be real.

It was The Moment you were looking for. The one for heartfelt confessions and hasty, frantic kisses that had been building up for weeks.

And you froze. Completely and utterly froze.

_What if Bucky was only being nice?_ you asked yourself. Maybe he was trying to make an effort to be friendlier and you were completely misreading his intentions.

By the time your frantic thoughts had been corralled back where they belonged, it was too late. Bucky had taken back his shirt with a small, sheepish expression, and replaced his clothing and guise, looking as if he hadn’t been flying a hundred feet in the air with you moments before.

The reason the opportunity had passed right over your head? You were still too afraid of what would happen if Bucky rejected you. The tenuous not-knowing how he truly felt about you was almost preferable to having an answer that would be devastating.

But that wasn’t what this was supposed to be about. It was about _Bucky_, about making him feel appreciated and wanted and_ loved_. If that’s not what he wanted from you, then… at least you’d know. Even if it killed you a little more every time the bond had to be sated.

So: the mission was still on, but you needed some serious help, and this help happened to come in the form of rum-spiked egg nog. The whole family was participating, even Bucky; it was the perfect opportunity to get inebriated just enough to smother your cowardly doubts.

Which was how you wound up on the couch, legs draped across Bucky’s lap as you sipped on your drink. One by one, your mom, aunt, and uncle headed off to bed, leaving the two of you alone in front of the small lit fireplace.

The room was dark aside from the flickering flames, filling the room with a sleepy kind of coziness that made one want to cuddle up to something warm. It would have been perfect, only you were slightly too inebriated for grand romantic gestures, and also, Bucky was too comfy and you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

So you just laid there, eyes closed, until a hand took the mostly empty glass out from your fingers before you could drop it on the carpet. You opened your eyes and smiled sleepily, snuggling deeper into the cushions.

“That stuff do anything for you?” You pointed your chin at the glass in his own hand. Bucky softly snorted.

“No.”

“Shame.”

He finished off the rest of his glass, not even wincing at the burn of the alcohol. Or maybe there wasn’t much in it. You’d definitely made yours on the strong side.

“Still like the taste,” he remarked, smiling a little. “Reminds me of Christmas when I was a kid.”

You gasped and held a hand to your chest.

“They let you kids drink _alcohol_?”

Bucky released another snort and leaned back further into the back of the couch, setting a large hand on your shin. He traced the side of your calf with a warm thumb. It felt very, very nice.

“Guess you’ve never heard of a hot toddy before.”

The teasing smirk on his lips made you want to reach for your glass of eggnog and drown it in one go. Bucky was way too pretty to be in your life, let alone your house. How the hell was this your life?

You turned back to his comment and scrunched your face in concentration, trying to recall the phrase, and also trying to decide if he was fucking with you about having booze as a kid.

“Hot whiskey, honey, and water,” he supplied helpfully, still smirking at you sinfully. “Sometimes sugar or spice if Ma could get it. Gave it to us when we were sick and… I could swear it worked.”

He had a far-off expression as he spoke, the teasing smile turning into something more fond and wistful.

You propped yourself up on one elbow so you could get a better view of his face. To make sure you weren’t crossing any lines with your questions, of course.

“What were they like? Your family?”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the carpet, and for a moment you thought your question would go unanswered and if you’d made a mistake by asking. But then he began to speak, about his mother and father, and more fondly, about his younger sister Rebecca. How much he missed her, and that while she had passed away years ago, she’d been survived by her adult children. Bucky had nieces and nephews he’d never met, who didn’t even know he was still alive.

When you suggested meeting them someday, he shook his head quickly, a dark pall over his expression.

“It wouldn’t be safe. HYDRA was around hundreds of years, I can’t believe they’re gone now. Even if they were, I’m still… It would be better if they believed I’d died a long time ago. Better for them to never know that demons are real and their uncle is one of them.”

You frowned, not understanding. Hadn’t your life gotten immeasurably better since Bucky had been in it? Sure, there was the terrifying, almost-dying parts, but… everything else more than made up for it. But how to get Bucky to see what you saw?

You’d said all the right words to him. Your relationship had definitely improved, but it wasn’t enough. Words weren’t going to cut it.

Taking a slow breath, you sat up and pulled your legs off Bucky’s lap, curling them beneath you. He snapped out of his dour brooding to give you a look, one brow raised.

“I want to see you,” you said.

The eyebrow rose higher on his forehead.

“Everyone’s asleep.” You lowered your voice, softer. “Let me see you.”

Bucky’s close scrutiny caused the warmth under your skin to turn into a flush, but you weren’t going to back down. The alcohol had made you bold, or maybe it was the impatience.

You waited, unyielding, and eventually the tension in his shoulders loosened. The guise melted away, shimmering in the air like a mirage, revealing everything that Bucky tried to hide but you could only love.

He removed his jacket, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his chest unfairly, but he didn’t spread his wings, leaving them drawn up against his back. When Bucky set his jacket on the end of the couch, you leaned forward, one hand outstretched, but you paused before it could make contact.

“Can I… touch you?”

His eyes darted between your hand and your face, appearing dubious about the thing you wanted to touch seeing as your fingers were inches from one swept-back horn, but eventually he nodded.

“Like I said,” he murmured, “you can touch me whenever you want.”

His eyes were dark, voice so low it was gravelly, and the monkey part of your brain screeched _danger! danger!_ at the presence of what was clearly an apex predator.

You’d never been one for self-preservation, though.

Your fingers touched the edge of the horn closest to you. You’d always liked them. They were rigid and angled backwards but slightly up, like an especially annoyed cat. The texture was hard but lightly spiraled, and interesting pattern that you traced up to the tip.

Bucky had gone very still, watching you out of the corner of one eye as he barely breathed.

“Can you feel this?” You continued to stroke along the horn, marveling at the pattern you’d somehow never noticed before.

“Not really.” His voice was as stiff as his posture. “I can sense the vibrations your fingers are causing, but I can’t feel it directly.”

“Mmm,” you hummed thoughtfully as you continued your journey downward until you reached the soft strands of his hair. When you pressed them against his scalp, Bucky shuddered, and you paused.

“Is this okay?”

Bucky made a small noise that turned into his clearing his throat.

“It’s-it’s fine.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“It’s fine, I mean it.”

“All right.”

You sounded pretty damn steady for someone who was internally going _oh fuck, he feels nice, oh shit, he smells nice too_. As many times as you’d been physically close with Bucky, you’d never really been_ intimate_. Getting to actually touch him just for the sake of touching him, and not as it being a byproduct of the feeding, was… so much different.

There was warmth in your stomach that had nothing to do with alcohol as you gently massaged the crown of his head with your fingers. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, gaze losing focus as you continued to knead little circles into his scalp.

How long had it been since he was touched like this? It had been a long time for you, but it could have been decades for him.

When his expression was blissful and his posture more lax, you moved to the other side of his head towards the ear facing away from you.

“What about these?” You barely touched a tapered ear when Bucky gave a full-body shudder.

“Those are… more sensitive.”

A complete understatement judging by the way the plates on his arm shifted and his tail wrapped around your thigh. He must not have known what it was doing because he didn’t look down. It was fascinating something as simple as rubbing his ear made him react so strongly.

You leaned over him, chest pressing against the bared armor plates of his shoulder, right over the carved pentagram. You weren’t trying to be seductive or coy; you were leaning on him for balance as you moved your hand down the back of his head. Your plan had been to keep going until you got to the shell of his folded wings.

But the _noise_ he made when your fingertips brushed against his nape, it was unmistakably a sharp, strangled moan. You gave another experimental run of your fingers up the back of his neck, and Bucky shuddered again. Your gut coiled with unexpected heat at his hair-trigger responses.

_Holy fuck._

Steeling your nerves, you swung your leg over his, placing yourself firmly on his lap. There was still some space between you as you were perched on his thighs, but not much. His body heat at this distance was practically blazing, but you focused kneading your hands along the bunched muscles of his shoulders.

“What… are you doing?” His voice was strangled, blue eyes wide.

“Touching you.”

Bucky sighed and gently took your wrists and drew them forward, holding them in his claw-tipped hands.

“No, what are you _doing?”_

You didn’t know what answer to offer him, one that would fit into words, so you met his questioning gaze as he held your wrists. An impasse.

Moving your hands forward, he blinked and let you go, eyes locked onto your face as you carefully, gently cupped his face in your palms. The stubble tickled against your skin, but he was so warm. Real. _Alive._

His eyes widened in surprise as you stroked your thumbs against his cheeks. You savored every small change in his features as he tried to figure you out when you yourself had no solid plan yourself. There was only you and Bucky, and this was how you always wanted it to be.

You leaned down, slowly as to give him time to pull away, and hovered over his lips.

He didn’t move an inch, his breath stilled in his chest as he waited for your next move.

You crossed the small distance left between you, pressing your lips to his so lightly that you almost couldn’t feel it. Just a light pressure, faint warmth and unbelievable softness.

At Bucky’s lack of response, you pulled away. He was completely locked up under you, still not breathing, and when you opened your eyes he was staring without blinking.

Doubt sat heavy in your stomach. Should you have done this? What if it wasn’t what he wanted? What if he didn’t want _you?_

There was no mistaking your feelings now; he would have to reject them, and every time you fulfilled the bond it was going to slowly destroy you.

You shouldn’t have kissed him, shouldn’t have thought up this stupid, _stupid_ plan—

Arms looped around your back and pulled you forward, slotting you against Bucky’s torso as he cradled the back of your head. His lips were on yours in an instant, demanding and hard.

A fire ignited low in your belly, one that had nothing to do with the mark on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck, drawing your thighs tighter around his waist as you opened your mouth to him. He took the invitation immediately, delving his tongue inside as he curled his claws into your hair.

Bucky lifted you both from the couch and you clung tighter to him so you wouldn’t fall, but he held you securely, lips never leaving yours as he somehow navigated the stairs to the second floor.

You’d expected Bucky to place you on the bed, but instead he set you down in the middle of your old bedroom. When he broke the kiss and stood back, you tried to chase his lips while making a noise of frustration.

Bucky gave a crooked grin that showed he knew exactly what he was doing to you, evidenced by the way he pulled off his shirt, leaving him bare-chested.

You were torn between wanting to undress yourself and needing to touch him. You settled for clumsily stripping off your shirt and immediately returning your hands to his chest, fingers mapping over the hardened muscles and stopping at the scared edge of his left shoulder.

Bucky’s smile faded and he parted his lips to say something, but you ran your fingers over the scars, gentle over the rough skin. Skin you hadn’t realized until now looked like claw marks, as if someone had tried to tear the limb off.

Your heart ached as you continued on to trace your fingers over the grooved edges of his plates. They shifted restlessly under your touch, much like the demon himself as he shuffled on his clawed feet.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked quietly.

_Are you sure I’m who you want?_

Even now, he was giving you an out. Not understanding you’d made your choice a long time ago.

You leaned against him and pressed your lips against where scarred flesh met hardened carapace. You kissed all the way down to his mark, a mirror image of your own, in answer to his question.

Evidently, it was enough to finally break through whatever doubts were still holding Bucky back. In one swift movement, he unclipped your bra and pulled it off your shoulders, forcing your hands to drop from his shoulders. He quickly replaced them, not on his chest but on his belt buckle.

The fire in your gut reignited, different from how it usually was. Even though you only had a couple days left until Bucky would need to feed again, your mark lay dormant and painless. Everything your body was doing right now was a hundred percent you. Which meant you were slightly awkward, flustered, and flushed.

You fumbled at Bucky’s belt, finger shaking as he chuckled against the bare skin of your shoulder. It was the only warning you got before he pressed his lips against the side of your neck, and you had to struggle to pull the belt from its loops as your knees trembled.

Damn demon didn’t even seem bothered as his hands roamed over your waist and back. It was completely unfair.

Once you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, you got your revenge by sliding your hand inside and grasping a hand around his—oh, _fuck,_ you’d forgotten how massive and not-human his cock was.

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he quickly tugged off your pants and underwear, his movements still controlled but just on the edge of it. He yanked off his jeans and picked you up, laying you gently on the bed before you could flounder at the loss of balance.

You stared up at him, already panting as you clutched onto his shoulders, hips wriggling to search for some kind of friction against your aching heat. Bucky hovered just above you, thighs spreading your legs as he knelt between them, pupils blown but brows pulled at an uncertain angle.

Frustrated and impatient, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Something curled around your ankle and you grinned; at least one part of Bucky was fully onboard.

You opened your mouth, to say what you weren’t sure, but you never got the chance. His mouth closed over yours, tongue licking at the seam of your lips, and you groaned and opened them willingly.

The drag of his cock against your abdomen was pure torture, and no matter how much you tilted your hips upwards to rub against it, Bucky wouldn’t push inside. He was _teasing_ you.

It was a wonderful torture, your body writhing every time the strange ridges of his cock dragged along your folds. You desperately rutted against him, but everything Bucky denied between your legs he gave to your mouth, kissing in a way that was obscene and filthy. You’d known his tongue was long and dexterous, but it was like he was fucking your mouth, tongue pushing in and out as it coiled around your own.

“Bucky, _please,”_ you groaned when he finally let you come up for air. He trailed kisses down your jaw to your neck, lapping at you with that sinfully long tongue.

You rolled your hips to make your point, whimpering when one of the soft ridges passed right over your clit. Bucky wasn’t unaffected, either. His breathing was hitched and uneven, and precum was smeared all over your stomach.

Without even thinking, you scooped up some of the mess on your finger and popped it in your mouth, closing your eyes to focus on the unique taste. Slightly salty but distinctly Bucky.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky was staring, mouth slightly agape. You quickly removed your finger, face heating, but Bucky didn’t let you stew in your embarrassment.

He kissed you hard, tongue licking into your mouth to taste himself as he put one arm under your hips. Completely unprepared as the tapered head of his cock pushed past your folds and opened you up.

You cried out against his lips, clutching his shoulders tightly as he continued to push, stretching you impossibly wide as you took every inch of him.

Bucky broke the kiss when you made another overwhelmed noise, his breathing uneven and hitched, voice strained.

“Are you… did I…”

“I’m fine.” You gave a quiet, breathless laugh. “Did I ever… tell you… how insanely huge you are? F…fucking… _feels _like I’m being… _murdered.”_

Bucky’s eyes rounded in horror, and this time, you giggled, wincing as you tightened around him. Terrible idea, because it also felt really good, and now you were rolling your hips against him again.

“Please, don’t stop. I’m only half-kidding,” you gasped out when you could breathe again. Bucky made a choked noise and buried his face against your neck, groaning.

“You can’t just… say things like that.”

“Why. Is it hot?”

_“Fuck.”_

Bucky gripped your hip tightly as he started to ground down against you, testing his shallow thrusts. You tried to stay quiet because there were still people in the house, but at least there was a bathroom between your room and the others. There was no way you were going to stay silent, not with Bucky’s perfect cock splitting you open.

When he began to move, all you could do was bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. It shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to take a cock of that size, yet you did. It didn’t hurt, but each thrust was overwhelming. A jolt of pleasure accompanied each one, your heart thudding wildly as you gradually tightened around him.

Bucky placed desperate kisses along your neck as if starved for it, each powerful move of his hips driving him deeper. Something tore next to your head, his claws ripping a hole in the pillows. You didn’t care, drowning in the scent and sound and feel of Bucky to mind the state of your bed.

Your legs trembled, nails digging harmlessly against the hardened base of his wings. They were open now, curled over you both. Possessive and shielding.

_“B-Bucky… I…”_

You whimpered pitifully as he kissed along your jaw with that same fevered need.

“I know, I know, it’s okay.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and whined, so close to the edge it was maddening.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

You wailed before your voice cut out altogether, unable to breathe as your body tensed around him.

Bucky groaned and fucked you through the orgasm, murmuring assurances and praise. You were barely coherent, your body squeezing him as if trying to milk him dry.

His hips stuttered and he followed you soon after with a sharp cry, muffled as he buried his face in your hair. You could sense the actual pull of energy, flowing through your body as you fed him, and it made for an unearthly orgasm.

You winced as you still pulsed around him, quickly growing oversensitive, but Bucky had stopped moving and laid on top of you. You half-expected him to get off you and regret what he had done.

Instead, he turned his head and kissed you on the temple. You huffed a quiet laugh, pulling an unexpected smile from you.

“What’s so funny?” he mumbled, sounding completely blissed out as he nudged the side of your cheek with his nose.

“You.” Rubbing your hands up and down his back, you reveled in his closeness, practically drunk on it. “I… wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Me too.”

You groaned in complaint when he finally moved off of you. He wasn’t gone for long, returning with a warm, damp hand towel from the bathroom. You really hoped Mom wouldn’t a buck-ass naked demon in the hallway.

As he cleaned you up, so gently that you wanted to cover your face with your hands, you asked, “What do you mean, _me too?”_

Bucky sighed, set the cloth aside, and got back into bed. He pulled the covers over you both and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“I meant I should have done that sooner,” he said. “I wanted to. I just didn’t know if you…”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I was in the same boat.”

Bucky chuckled, breath tickling your scalp.

“We really need to work on the whole communication thing better.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Although.” He rubbed your back. “We seem to communicate _fine _when we’re naked.”

You groaned against his chest. Bucky was _not _allowed to have a dirty sense of humor. It would be the death of you.

“Am I wrong?”

“I have nothing to say,” you muttered, your grumpiness undermined when you snuggled against him. “Nothing at all.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead. You really,_ really_ hoped the kisses and easy touches would be standard from now on. He was spoiling you, and you didn’t know how you’d survive without them now.

“We should… probably talk about this later,” he said in a softer tone. “After we get some sleep.”

You huffed. Even if you agreed you should talk more, you didn’t want to. Couldn’t you just be a couple? Why’d it have to be more complicated than that?

“I’m sure your family will want to be up early tomorrow,” Bucky added thoughtfully.

You frowned, brain churning slowly, and then your eyes went wide.

“Shit. I forgot it was Christmas again.”

“Was it that good?”

_“Bucky!”_

He showed mercy after you buried your face in the pillow, squeezing you tightly and petting your hair with a chuckle. He was quickly forgiven. A part of you still couldn’t believe this was real, it had finally happened, and Bucky hadn’t run away. _You_ hadn’t run away.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmured into your hair.

Your breath caught in your throat, a lump forming. Everything was going to be fine, you would sort things out later. All that mattered was you had this moment with Bucky. Hard-fought and won.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said, and snuggled up to your demon as you finally drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing the end of writing out all of Branded. It'll be around 160k or so when it's finished. Point is, I'm almost done, so I'm going to start posting everything now! Expect frequent and regular updates every Sunday (and Wednesday, if y'all want to read it sooner). Let me know.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://trashmenofmarvel.tumblr.com/)


	23. Profundity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning finally arrives, and you and Bucky come to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consensus is in, and most of you wanted more frequent updates, so here they are!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mild sexual content, fluff, mild angst
> 
> Additional warnings: Though it's never explicitly stated, Reader is on the ace spectrum (hence the Asexual Reader tag). In this chapter she references past difficulties due to this fact, and she also expects Bucky to reject her. This is a realistic fear for many aces, so take care when reading. It won't be brought up again beyond this chapter.

Whether by habit or some instinctual memory of being back in this room on this day, your body knew to wake you up at the crack of dawn, which would have been a bummer if not for one important fact.

You were warmly tucked within the embrace of one sleeping demon. Definitely sleeping this time because his wings were draped over you like a blanket and his tail was looped snug around your leg.

Closing your eyes and releasing a sigh, you reveled in the warm security of Bucky’s chest pressed against your back. Neither of you had bothered to get dressed after last night, and all of him was pressed against you in the best way. You were on the edge between vibrating out of your skin in nervous energy and melting into a puddle from the intimate contact.

Perhaps your silent agitation woke him, because Bucky nosed against your neck and gave a raspy “morning” as he stretched and hugged you closer.

“M-morning,” you returned, stuttering while his stiffening cock pressed against your ass. Falling asleep naked was, in hindsight, not the wisest idea.

“Uh, sorry—“

Bucky began to roll away but you snatched his arm in time and draped it back over your waist.

“It’s fine, really, just… stay a little while?”

Bucky paused then rolled back the rest of the way, and you sighed at the return of warmth.

“We… we should probably talk about this…”

“Later.”

You rolled onto your other side until you were facing him and got an amazing view of his collarbone. Nuzzling against his chest, you made a satisfied hum in your throat.

Bucky let out a breathless laugh and ran his fingers through your hair. The humming intensified.

“You’re like a cat,” he remarked, his other hand tracing along the curve of your spine. “Craving warmth and attention.”

“I’m not the one with pointy ears and a tail.”

You gave the hollow dip at the base of his throat a lick for good measure. He stiffened and groaned, his cock now at full mast and pressed against your hip.

“Are you… uh… still hungry?” you asked, clearing your throat when your voice cracked like a teenage boy.

“Mmmm nope. Still very full from last night. This is… all you.”

Face on fire, you buried your face deeper in his neck. Bucky just laughed, the rumbling sound both comforting and rekindling the warmth in your gut.

“We should probably get up,” he sighed into your hair, then chuckling at your muffled groan. “I don’t want to leave this bed either, but… we’ll have lots of time once we get back to the city to…”

He trailed off at you staring up at him with big, wide eyes. His cheeks flushing pink was a rare, wonderful sight.

“We get to do this more?” you asked, daring not to hope. “Not just for feedings?”

He swallowed hard and licked his lips, tempting you to taste them again. You didn’t know how you would manage to keep your hands to yourself now that you knew what_ this_ was like.

“That’s what we should talk about.”

You huffed and let your forehead smash into the pillow. He rubbed your back sweetly but was definitely grinning down at you as he said, “You’re the one who said we should communicate more clearly.”

_“Ugghhh,”_ was your answer muffled by the pillow.

Bucky smiled and kissed the top of your head, the amused, fond expression never quite leaving his face as the two of you got dressed. You couldn’t help sneaking glances at him; with or without the guise, his body was a goddamn meal in every sense of the word.

Coming downstairs meant you were met with the strong smell of pancakes, cinnamon, and hazelnut wafting through the house. Your mom and aunt were both working on breakfast, while your uncle shoveled the driveway and walkway to clear the snow from the night.

Bucky volunteered to help him, and with a parting kiss on the crown of your head, he put on his windbreaker and disappeared out the front door.

Unlike all the other gestures of affection put on for show, this one left you flushed with a pounding heart. The knowing glance your mother and aunt shared made the heat in your face worse, but at least they were merciful enough to keep their comments to themselves.

Just kidding.

“Jacob seems very nice,” your mother said in that way mothers had of doing trying to prod for more information and thought they were being sneaky. “Will we get to see him over more holidays?”

You were in the middle of retrieving cartons of grapes, kiwis, and persimmons from the fridge in order to help make the fruit salad when you froze. Having Bucky over for… holidays? You jumped forward to other questions. What about birthday parties? Next holiday season?

How long was the shelf life of a demon pact? You couldn’t remember what the book had said, if anything.

“Sweetie?”

You blinked, struggled to form a steady smile, and turned back to the fruit when it didn’t quite work.

“Yeah, hopefully,” you answered weakly.

She shuffled closer and you could sense her staring, the weight of her concern pressing on your shoulders.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

The fruit cartons were cold in your hands, and the cool water you used to wash them with did nothing to stop the chill creeping over you.

“Course, Mom. Why?”

“Well…” She stood next to you to take the washed fruits and chop up the larger ones on the cutting board. “Because I know at the beginning of these things, when everything is new and intense, it can be a little… scary.”

You snorted. Now there was an understatement.

“But I know it’s going to all work out,” she said. “With Jacob, or whatever’s going on in your life, it’ll be okay. I just… have a feeling about it.”

You nodded and ducked your head, fighting back the sudden well of tears when your mother reached over and hugged you against your side as if you were a little kid again.

“But if anything_ is_ bothering you, I want you to tell me.” She squeezed your arm, and you smiled despite yourself. “Even if there’s nothing I can do, I’m your mother and I want to know.”

You did want to tell her, so badly. You gave another weak nod and a _thanks, Mom _so she’d leave the subject alone. You didn’t know where this surge of emotions was coming from, but everything felt too heavy and too much. It was Christmas morning, everyone was safe and healthy, and there was no reason you should be on the verge of crying into the fruit salad.

As soon as Bucky returned with your uncle and settled his gaze on you, his brows creased and he frowned. But there was no time to talk; your sister and her family had arrived, and it was a gentle sort of pandemonium after that. Embraces and excited conversation as everyone gathered around the tree. There were no children left in the family, with the exception of your two month old nephew, but it was a tradition you continued long after childhood.

Bucky kept shooting you concerned glances throughout the entire gathering, even after you decided to drop your own problems and focus on your family’s happiness. Your aunt and uncle were avid outdoors explorers, so shopping for them had been easy. Binoculars, survival gear, hiking boots, all pretty standard stuff. Your mother and sister had been harder, but some cute t-shirts and new books from their favorite authors had done the trick.

You were still bothered by the fact you hadn’t given Bucky anything. Last night had been something out of a fantasy, and that was before you’d managed to get Bucky into bed, and not having a gift for him was unacceptable.

After all the presents were opened and everyone got comfortable around the living room in what you recognized would be hours of slightly boring, adult conversation, Bucky caught your eye and nudged his chin towards the backdoor. Nodding discretely, you excused yourselves with the reason that you were going for a walk, and grabbed Bucky’s hand to lead him into the backyard.

You’d barely been outside ten seconds before Bucky sighed, turned right back around, and disappeared inside with the instructions to sit tight. You rolled your eyes when he reappeared with your jacket and beanie in hand.

“I’m not going to die of exposure from being out in the snow for a few minutes underdressed,” you griped.

“Uh-huh.” Bucky ignored you as he shoved the beanie over your head and used your flailing to slip your arms through the sleeves.

“You’re such a mother hen.”

“Well, one of us has to look out for you.”

“I am. Perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” You shook your finger at him.

“Uh-huh.” He grabbed you and lifted you up in his arms. “Is that why you couldn’t bother to put slippers on before going out in the snow?”

You buried your face in his chest so Bucky couldn’t see your expression. So what if you’d been so distracted you’d basically run outdoors in your pajamas?

He smirked and carried you to the old swing set you hadn’t been on since you were a kid. Only two seats, it had been built by your uncle soon after your sister had been born. It was one of your favorite childhood spots, and as Bucky set you down on one of the swings, you wondered if he knew that.

Bucky sat on the other swing and immediately picked up your legs and put them into his lap. You opened your mouth to complain, but closed it again. Bucky was softly smiling at you, and you couldn’t remember him ever looking so… _happy._

“So…” You wiggled your legs and focused on your wet socks rather than your feelings. “Is this why you lured me away? You wanted to play on the swing set?”

You expected Bucky to be flustered or embarrassed by your teasing. Instead, he leaned across the small space and pulled your legs at the same time so you were practically sitting sidesaddle in his lap. He grinned at your shocked expression.

“No. But now that you bring it up…”

Bucky closed the last few inches and captured your lips in a soft, light kiss. It still hit you like a ton of bricks and you would have fallen backwards off your swing if Bucky hadn’t been there to wrap his arms around you.

You were in a daze by the time you separated. He chuckled at your expression but didn’t move far, and you were tempted to kiss him again.

“We still have to talk.”

You scrunched up your nose.

“Must we?” you asked. “Or should we make out instead.”

Bucky grinned wide enough to show perfectly white teeth.

“Maybe after.”

“I’m listening,” you said with your best innocent, attentive look. Bucky didn’t buy it, but he did kiss you on the tip of your nose before leaning back a more appropriate distance. Disappointing.

“Last night was…” Bucky’s gaze dropped, a thumb absently rubbing circles into your knee.” I don’t have words for it. It was incredible and amazing…

“But…” You exhaled heavily and leaned your forehead against the cold chain of the swing. Here was the _it’s not you, it’s me_ talk. This was exactly why you didn’t want to have this discussion—

“_But_.” His other hand squeezed your leg, gently, to catch your attention. When he had it, he said, “I want to be a hundred percent certain it’s what you want.”

Oh. Not quite what you’d expected.

“Bucky… It’s… of _course_ it’s what I want.” The words tumbled out of you before you could stop them. “I’ve wanted this for a while now and didn’t have the guts to express that until last night.”

“Huh.” He blinked, mouth slightly ajar as if he’d never considered that before. “I... I’m asking because the bond makes things a lot more complicated. How do we know what’s binding magic and what’s… I mean… even if it’s _not_ the bond, we’re still forced to have sex, and it’s easy to get attachments when you—“

You didn’t mean to let the giggle escape, but once it had, Bucky stared at you like you’d grown a second head. The confused-Bucky-face didn’t help, either.

“I’m not… not laughing at you,” you said, smiling. “I’m laughing because I think I understand what you’re worried about, and Bucky? That’s not what’s going on here.”

Bucky searched your face and frowned.

“But how do you know that?” he asked. “You could be confusing the feelings from sex for something else. Something more.”

Your smile widened as you struggled not to laugh again. You really didn’t want Bucky to take it the wrong way, misunderstand it for the relief it was.

“I know because my brain doesn’t work like that. Never has,” you said. “I don’t get ‘sexual feelings’ from looking at attractive people. Having sex with them wouldn’t change that. So… I’m trying to say, I don’t like you because of the bond, or the sex. I like you apart from all that. One’s got nothing to do with the other.”

He stared at you so long you fidgeted under his gaze.

“Is that why you haven’t been in many relationships?”

You winced and buried your face in your hands. Sometimes, you forgot this was the guy who’d been watching over you most of your life and knew you better than anyone.

Gentle hands pulled your arms away from your face, his expression kind and a little bit sad.

“It’s not a judgement,” he said quietly. “I always wondered why you were alone. Couldn't understand it.”

You couldn’t meet his eye, the tightness in your chest suffocating, bordering on painful. All those years you’d been alone, believing you’d always be that way, never knowing Bucky existed. Countless nights you’d curled up in bed, heart aching with loneliness, and he’d been out there just… thinking about you?

Bucky wasn’t the only one with a low sense of self-worth. You just buried yours better.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard. “I don’t feel attracted to people very often. And when I do, it just… doesn’t work out.”

Your stomach clenched and you wondered if you might barf right there in the snow, or worse, on Bucky’s lap. You hadn’t expected to have_ this_ conversation, not so soon and not here. You weren’t prepared for it, for his inevitable rejection. For the pity in his eyes as he finally understood.

“Or I’m not what they want.” Your voice was flat. Clinical. In direct opposition to the anxiety buzzing under your skin. “It’s as simple as that. I don’t_ blame_ anyone for wanting something I can’t give them. It’s… it’s no one’s fault…”

Despite the familiar words you had recited to yourself over and over, your vision blurred. You tried to retract your arms out of Bucky’s grip, but he pulled you forward against his chest and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. The swing slipped out from under you, and now you really _were _in his lap. He didn’t seem to mind as he rubbed your back and propped his chin on top of your hair.

“It’s all right,” he said, low and comforting. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t.” You pressed closer against his chest, barely feeling the freezing temperature while wrapped in Bucky’s warmth. “I just want you to know that if I’m not what you want, then… bond or not, you don’t owe me anything.”

Bucky slowly pulled back and cupped your cheeks in his gloved hands, one stiffer than the other. His eyes were so gentle it was hard to breathe.

“I believe that’s my line.”

You rolled your eyes, if only so you wouldn’t start crying like a baby. You hadn’t realized how much emotional weight you’d been carrying until now.

“You’re stuck with me, Barnes. I told you that.”

He stroked your cheek, his gaze suddenly very far away as if he was seeing something else.

“And I made a promise a long time ago that I would always protect you,” he said. “Which I will continue to do, no matter where this goes or what happens between us.

“But,” he added, leaning forward, eyes sparkling with warmth, “I’m also extremely selfish and hoping we can continue what we’ve started. Whatever you’re willing to give me, whatever you’re comfortable with sharing, will be more than enough for me. Because _you_ are more than enough for me.”

Great, now your eyes were burning for a totally different reason. Your anxiety had vanished, but now it felt like this burning affection was going to burst out of your chest like a baby xenomorph.

Before you could wonder if Bucky had seen any of the Alien series, and _would you be able to rope him into watching them with you_, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth.

And then you ruined the tender moment by grinning like an idiot and chirping, “So-o-o-o does that make you my demon boyfriend?”

“Oh, my God.”

“And me, your adorable human girlfriend?”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back and leaned away to give you a narrow-eyed glare.

_“Yes.”_ He ended the syllable on a slight hiss, narrowing his eyes further when you grinned. “You might regret this, you know.”

“I regret getting out of bed every day. You?" You grinned. "No. Not a chance I’ll regret you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be assured or worried.”

You gave him a sympathetic pat on the cheek.

“Millennial humor. You’ll get used to it.”

Bucky leaned forward, his mouth suddenly very close, making you flush in record time.

“You do realize your generation did _not_ invent fatalistic humor.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, Gramps.”

The crash of his lips against yours might have been a form of payback for your smart mouth, but you welcomed it gladly.


	24. Perennial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky receives your Christmas present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Christmas floof :) Even this one made me a bit emo.

You took your mission to get a present for Bucky just as seriously as your mission to seduce him. No alcohol was involved this time, just a little elbow grease and fighting through the cobwebs of the attic.

With your sister distracting Bucky downstairs after dinner (“Ohh, does this mean I can give him the shovel talk?!”), you had the time needed to find what you were looking for. A pile of cardboard boxes with your name written on them, along with the year you’d moved away from home.

You sat on the old wooden floor, opened a box, and began to rummage. Plushies and toys you hadn’t wanted to part with were in the first box. The next, various knickknacks you’d collected over the years. A crystal vial filled with water and gold flakes. A keychain full of dead Tamagotchis. A collection of bookmarks made out of wood and hand-painted with magical creatures.

Each new treasure brought a wave of nostalgia, bittersweet for a time when things had seemed simpler. No soul-sucking job. No demons stalking you, waiting for you to be alone and vulnerable to strike.

But there had been no Bucky, either. So while the memories held an alluring shine to it, you didn’t have a problem leaving the past where it was.

You came upon the object you’d been seeking tucked away in the third box. You opened it carefully, the weight surprisingly heavy in your hands. It was a picture frame, segmented into three parts that could close inward, almost like a book. An heirloom your grandmother had found at a flea market when her family had lived in New York.

It was clearly old, heavy with the weight of history, but the metalwork was delicate and beautiful. The last remains of a bygone era, a little bit tarnished and dusty but no less beautiful for it.

It reminded you of a certain other person from a bygone era.

Carefully putting away your childhood things and replacing the boxes, you went back downstairs and entered your mother’s study. The laptop on her desk was open to a webpage of a historical site regaling the Second World War. The glossy pictures you printed were still sitting in the printer’s output tray.

Taking the photos, you carefully cut them to fit the three windows of the picture frame. The pictures in them now were artistic drawings of anthropomorphic rabbits wearing whimsical, old-fashioned clothing. You carefully set them aside, planning to find new frames for your grandmother’s drawings; somewhere they could be displayed and not hidden away in the attic.

Technically, the frame was a family heirloom and probably valuable, but giving it to Bucky felt… right. He’d been a part of your life for much longer than two months, even if you hadn’t known it. The bond between you was strange, indescribable, and ran too deep to break. If that wasn’t family, you didn’t know what was.

Your mother would understand and forgive you, whenever you told her the truth. And you would tell her, someday. It was kind of unavoidable when you were dating an immortal being. You would go grey, and Bucky would always look the same…

The scissors froze halfway through a cut. What were you going to do when you grew old and withered? What happened to Bucky when you died? You’d thought about your own mortality plenty of times, but you hadn’t thought about the implications after meeting Bucky.

Would the bond break and Bucky would go on without you? Or would it hurt him. _Kill _him. Had the book said anything about the human slaves aging? All it had said in regards to death was they could die to protect the demon, giving the demon an extra life.

What if you couldn’t provide the energy he needed because you were too frail and gnarled with age?

What if Bucky didn’t _want_ you when you got old?

What if—

Your jaw clenched and the scissors glided through the paper like a blade. Startled, you looked down at the photo, but thankfully you’d more or less cut straight. You stared at the photo, the last you’d chosen of the three.

A sepia photo of a handsome young man in a suit, the white dress shirt unbuttoned and showing the undershirt beneath, a familiar and easy grin on his face. Next to him, a scrawny blond boy who was much shorter, smiling reluctantly with encouragement from the brunet next to him. It was hard to believe the serious-looking boy would one day be Captain America and the young man next to him would become HYDRA’s most powerful soldier.

You carefully put the photo in one of the side frames. In the frame opposite, you placed a black and white family photo, one of Bucky, his sister, and both their parents. They were wearing their best clothes, the children on their best behavior, except the boy had an elbow pressed against his sister’s side as they both suppressed giggles.

The third photo, the one you placed in the center piece, was a simple one. A photo of Bucky in another suit, this one more formal, and his sister at his side wearing a pair of women’s trousers and a frilly blouse. They were both older than in the first photo, and according to the date, it was the summer before Bucky had been shipped out to Europe.

Bucky looked… happy. Genuinely, truly happy. You hadn’t included any photos from the war or him in uniform, though there were plenty to find. You didn’t think he’d want to be reminded of that time, and in all those pictures he’d seemed subdued, serious. It wasn’t an expression you were fond of, and the happiness he showed around his family and Steve Rogers was absent in them.

After all the pictures were secured, you leaned back and stared at them. You frowned and shifted restlessly.

What if he didn’t like it? What if it brought back painful memories he’d rather forget? You were confident that wouldn’t be the case, not after the fond way he’d talked about his family, but… reminiscing was one thing. Seeing the past staring up at you was another.

Sighing heavily, you stood and picked up the frame, closing it so only the polished metalwork was on display. It was better to get it over with, rather than stand here, frozen with the weight of doubt.

After wrapping the frame in pretty blue foil paper, you went into your old room and placed it on the bed. You took a deep breath—why were you so _nervous?_—and went downstairs to free Bucky from your sister’s clutches.

To your eternal shock, he didn’t look like a hostage when you found them in the kitchen. If anything, they seemed thick as thieves. Your eyes narrowed, suspicious of what tales your sister has clearly been telling.

And that’s when you froze.

Bucky was holding your infant nephew in his arms, looking for all the world like he’d done it a million times before. He didn’t look up at your arrival, his gaze entirely focused on the baby he was slowly rocking back and forth. Your nephew stared up at him with wide eyes, little chubby arms reaching up to try and grab a stray lock of hair.

You’d never experienced the phenomenon of “baby fever” before. You maybe wanted to adopt kids, sure, but have them yourself? It’d never been a priority or a desire… until that moment. The air had gone out of you like a sucker punch to the gut, replaced by yearning so strong it was a struggle to remain silent and not break the moment.

Somebody noticed your presence, though. Your sister was grinning at you like a shark from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter.

“There you are,” she practically cooed. “I was just telling Jacob about the time we snuck out of the house as kids and went to go perform ‘witchcraft’ in the middle of the woods at night.”

You made some kind of noncommittal noise, you were sure, because Bucky lifted his head and looked directly at you. Your nephew had managed to grab a lock of hair and was currently sticking it into his mouth.

Bucky didn’t notice, his entire focus on your face, a light frown forming. You still hadn’t moved or spoken.

“Did you find what you needed?” your sister asked, leaning forward to save Bucky’s hair from being eaten, lifting her son back into her arms.

“Uh. Yeah. I did.” You swallowed thickly, too much saliva in your mouth.

“Oh? What were you looking for?” Bucky approached, and when he was close enough placed a hand on your back and rubbed. The simple touch sent a white-hot flash through your system and you nearly choked.

“Nothing. I mean, something. Uh, you’ll see.”

Your sister gave you a pitying look over Bucky’s shoulder, and you communicated a silent _what the fuck was that, you asshole, you know exactly what you did._

She returned the silent communique with a smug smirk, and then she drew you into a one-armed hug.

“I’m heading out, sis. Got an early drive back home in the morning. I’m gonna miss you.”

Your frustration evaporated in an instant and you returned the hug tightly.

“Drive safe,” you told her.

“You too. And call me more, or at least text!”

“I will, I promise.”

And you meant it too. You’d fallen out of touch with your family, and after appreciating everything Bucky had lost, you were going to make an effort to include him as well.

After you separated, your sister hugged Bucky with just as much enthusiasm.

“Take care of her, Jacob Miller.”

“I will.” Bucky tucked you against his side after your sister released him. Your face was on fire.

“I know you will,” she said with a conspiratorial smirk. “Because I watch a _lot_ of crime dramas, and I know how to hide a body.”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned into a hand.

After your sister and brother-in-law said their last goodbyes and your familial humiliation was concluded, you couldn’t rush up the stairs fast enough, practically dragging Bucky behind you.

You shut the bedroom door and leaned back against it, releasing a sigh of relief, and then immediately sucked another lungful of air when Bucky crowded you against the door. His smile was amused but carried a hint of concern.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling shakily as your stomach did flip-flops. It was hard to focus with Bucky so close, peering at you intently with those bright blue eyes.

“You sure?” He cupped the side of your face with a gloved hand, and you leaned into it immediately. “Because you got this weird look on your face. I didn’t go too far, did I? Your sister asked if I wanted to hold her son, and I didn’t think—“

“No, no.” You shook your head fervently, placing your hand over Bucky’s so you could squeeze it. “I’m happy you’re getting along so well with my family. Really. It’s… more than I could have asked for.”

His expression softened, the tension lines of his face smoothed out, and he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to yours. The kiss deepened when you tangled your fingers in his long hair, pulling him closer, and your knees would have buckled right then if he hadn’t been pressing you against the door.

What had started out as a chaste kiss was quickly going to end in somebody naked, so you pulled back and grinned at his noise of frustration.

“Just—hold on a sec,” you said. “I have something for you first.”

You ducked around him and approached the bed to where his gift laid waiting. Bucky was right behind you, not letting you go far as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“What’s this?” he asked, propping his chin on top of your head.

“This… is your Christmas present.”

Another small noise of protest when you turned around and tapped it against his chest.

“You really didn’t have to,” he said with a hint of exasperation.

“Uh, you took me _flying_. A little gift is the least I could do.”

Bucky looked from your face to the present, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. When was the last time someone had gotten the guy a gift? No, you didn’t want to think about that sad question or you might start crying.

He took the present from your hand, his expression still one of vague disbelief. You bit your lip to keep from smiling and ended up failing anyway. It wasn’t every day that Bucky looked so… _cute_. There was no other word for the little dip in his brows and the slight parting of his lips.

It was nothing to the expression he wore once he pulled open your less-than-perfect wrapping job, opened the frame, and saw what was inside.

As the seconds tick on and his face didn’t changed, where he didn’t seem to breathe, your excitement slowly drained away.

And then when his eyes grew glassy and red-rimmed, you started to panic.

“Is… is this too much?” you quickly asked. “Should I not have—Did I make a mistake?”

His guise dropped in an instant. It wasn’t gradual like it usually was; it was gone so fast you only had to blink.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against his chest, face buried in your hair as if to hide it. A fine tremor moved through his muscles. He was shaking.

“No. It’s—it’s perfect. I… Thank you.”

You raised your arms slowly and wrapped them around him just as carefully, holding him as close as you could. Being held in Bucky’s embrace never got old, or tiring; it was a place you could remain forever. By the desperate way he held you tight, you hoped he felt the same.

“Where… where did you even find them?” He pulled back and stared down at the picture frame, wonder on his face. No tears had fallen, but he still looked painfully fragile.

“Online.” You rested your head against his shoulder as your eyes fell to the pictures. “Museum websites. Lots of information on Captain America, of course, but quite a few on his childhood best friend.”

“Huh.”

“You’ve never googled yourself?”

“Once. Didn’t care to do it again.”

You winced. Of course, you had to go and bring up the fact most of the information on Bucky wasn’t about him, but about the Winter Soldier.

“Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”

Bucky sighed and carefully set the frame down on the nearby dresser. Without warning, he grabbed you by the back of your thighs and lifted, picking you up before setting you on the bed, swallowing down your squeal as he kissed you, open-mouthed.

You immediately went pliant, wrapping your arms and legs around him to try and get closer.

“That’s better,” he said, voice a raspy growl when he broke the kiss. His eyes were dark, pupils blown as he eyed you like a tasty meal. “Can’t beat yourself up if your mouth is too busy doing other things.”

“I can multitask,” you breathed out. Bucky grinned, a hint of sharp teeth.

“We’ll see.”


	25. Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wants to give you a gift, but things don't go the way they should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mini chapter with a last bit of fluff. And then a peek of what's going to be posted on Sunday...

That night, you didn’t do more with Bucky than make out in your bed, probably because you were so warm and comfortable. Embarrassingly enough, you started to doze off. The day had been exhausting, physically and emotionally, and you were only human.

Bucky said he didn’t mind, and in fact, was more than fine with being intimate without always having sex. Thinking back on his history, on all the things that had been done to him that you’d only seen a sliver of, it made perfect sense and eased your guilt. You knew you should never have to feel guilty for not having sex, but it was something that had been ingrained in your head and was hard to get rid of.

Suffice it to say, getting to snuggle in bed was a treat for you both. You planned to get a bit more _handsy_ after you woke up, but it was your last full day at the house, and your mother wanted to spend one-on-one time with you.

Bucky waved off your apologies with a smile, saying he wanted to get some quality alone time with Honey, anyway. After admitting defeat that the dog was going to steal your boyfriend, you went on errands with your mom and didn’t return until the sun had set. You frowned at the time as if it had personally robbed you.

You loved spending time with your mom, even as you skirted around discussions of “Jacob” and the future, a topic you would eventually have to tackle. You didn’t want to think about it. Not yet.

Returning to Bucky, seeing his eyes light up from where he was on the couch, a sleeping Chihuahua in his lap… it hit you hard. _This _was what you wanted. Your heart ached like a knife slowly twisting in your chest. This was what you wanted, but it came with a high price for both of you and made the future so much more tenuous.

After the last dinner with your family, cheerful and eating the last of the Christmas leftovers, you retreated upstairs, Bucky at your heels. Some of your inner pain must have bled through, because once the bedroom door was closed, he took your hand and squeezed it.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and tried on your bravest smile.

“Nothing. Just… sad we have to go back, I guess.”

Bucky’s eyes softened and he said, “C’mere,” before gently pulling you against his chest. You sighed into his embrace, closing your eyes as you breathed him in. Some of the weight lifted off your heart, eased by his warm touch.

“This was… wonderful,” he said into your hair, a low rumble. “Better than I deserve, but I’m selfish enough to take it. Best Christmas I’ve had since… since I was back home. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You buried your face into his shoulder, letting out a whimper as your face burned. That pet name was going to be the death of you.

Bucky only chuckled and rubbed your back.

“And I wanted to thank you properly,” he said. “Something… more meaningful than just a nighttime flight.”

“Oh, no, Bucky you don’t have to do all that.”

He pulled you back and met your eye. There was something sad in his smile.

“I want to do this.”

Bucky drew his shoulders up and took a breath as if bracing for something. He released your shoulders and looked… to the closet.

“I want you to see what happened that day. The day I came through the portal.”

You stopped breathing.

“I think I’m ready for it,” he continued. “And I want you to see, want you to understand that… this bond isn’t something I created on purpose.”

“Bucky…” Your voice was barely a whisper. “I… I know that. I trust you.”

He turned his eyes back to you and gave a small smile. That note of sadness was still there. You were desperate to know why.

“And your trust means a great deal to me. Which is why I want you to see what happened. Now, I can’t bring back your memories—“

The growing hope in your chest vanished.

“—but I can show you mine.”

“You… you can?”

“Yes.” Bucky stepped forward and gently took your hands, leading to you sit on the edge of your bed. Facing the closet. “Along with erasing someone’s memories, I can share my own. I didn’t know I could do it until the Ancient One showed me.”

Something hot and ugly twisted in your chest, and you looked away.

“Okay, what is that?”

“What’s what?” you asked, concentrating on a very interesting spot on the wall.

“That face. You make it every time I mention her. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Despite the clear teasing in his voice, you tensed and tried to draw back your fingers, but Bucky caught them.

“You _are_ jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” you lied.

Bucky snorted just to show how much he believed you.

“If this works, and I don’t manage to fuck anything up, I’ll show you my memories of her. How’s that?”

You perked up. Despite your petty feelings, you were curious about the woman that had made such an impression on Bucky.

“I would like that.”

“Good. Now face me… and close your eyes.”

You did as you were told, sitting up fully on the bed so you could cross your legs before closing your eyes. For several seconds, nothing happened. Brow furrowed, you were about to open your eyes when soft, warm lips pressed against yours.

You made a startled noise as your eyes flew open, and Bucky broke the kiss and sat back, smiling toothily.

“Just kidding,” he said. “You don’t have to close your eyes.”

_“Jerk.”_ You threw a playful punch at his arm, which he caught easily, twisting you around and stealing your leverage so you landed right into his lap, back trapped against his chest.

“Here’s fine, though.” He nosed behind your ear and gave your skin a quick lick.

Like a magic trick, you went instantly pliant in his arms, humming happily as you snuggled back against him. You went full gooey when Bucky dropped his guise and draped his wings around you, wrapping you in the world’s best cocoon.

“Now what you do need to do… is relax.” He took a deep breath, and you could feel his chest expand against your back. “Breathe slow and deep. Open your mind and quiet your thoughts.”

“Like… meditating?”

“Just like meditating.”

You closed your eyes, anyway; it would help with the whole _mindfulness_ thing, plus most of your senses were focused on Bucky and how warm and safe you felt with him wrapped around you.

“Okay,” you said after a moment, a little bit nervous. “Now what?”

“Just keep breathing, slow and steady.” His voice was low and heavy next to your ear like some filthy kind of ASMR. “I’ll do the rest.”

Well, now you were relaxed _and_ horny.

Oh, no. Was this how Bucky and the Ancient One would mind-meld, or whatever? Now all you could think about was some sexy sorceress sitting in Bucky’s lap and—

“You’re not relaxing.”

“S-sorry.” You took another breath to shake off the tension that had been in your hands and shoulders. “I’ll try harder.”

“You’ll try harder… to relax?”

You groaned and leaned your head back against his shoulder, earning you a kiss on the side of your head. Who knew Bucky Barnes could be such a sarcastic ass?

“Come on, you can do it,” he said, growing serious again. “Breathe in… breathe out. Relax your muscles one by one, from your head to your toes. Release all worries from your mind and open yourself to—“

Silence followed. You frowned, waiting for him to continue his instructions.

“And then what?”

He didn’t answer.

“Bucky, and then wh—“

You opened your eyes. You were no longer sitting on your bed. It was cold, the room vast and dim, and you braced your arms over your chest as you shivered.

And that was when Bucky started screaming.


	26. Irrevocable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something went wrong. Very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into the thick of it now. I've been planning these next chapters for the past year and I'm very excited for y'all to read them. Prepare for some sci-fi/fantasy horror.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Torture, violence, psychological abuse, brainwashing, demon slavery, implied past noncon, no actual noncon in this chapter (but it gets close)

You whipped around, heart in your throat, unable to breathe from the shock of the scream. It was strained, agonizing, and arrested the blood in your veins.

Bucky was sitting in a chair, his arms strapped down as a metal contraption encircled his head. Electricity sparked against his skin, and he continued to scream.

_“Bucky!”_

You tried to run but couldn’t move, your feet glued to the floor, and you were forced to remain where you were as Bucky howled in agony.

There were other people in the room, soldiers dressed in uniforms and men wearing lab coats. Catwalks stretched above your head, grey stone at your feet, and in the back of the room an iron chamber of some sort. Smoke or fog curled from the opening, strange glyphs written across its surface.

You ignored it all, your entire attention focused on Bucky.

_What was going on?_ _What were they** doing** to him?_

The torment finally stopped. It must have, because Bucky slumped in the chair, chest heaving as hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, the metal device lifting from his crown. A man spoke a language you didn’t know, but the longer he spoke the more you understood the words.

The words themselves didn’t make much sense, but he chanted them like an incantation. _Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak._ With each one uttered, Bucky grew more calm, his twitching snarl smoothing into a neutral stare.

Only then did your eyes drop downward to truly take in his appearance. He wasn’t clothed in the jacket and jeans he’d been wearing a moment ago. A tactical harness covered his chest, combat pants and boots on his legs. His very _human _legs.

That was different. His guise was dropped, and everything else looked the same. The wings, the horns, his tail looped tightly around his leg. The armored arm with the pentagram carved into the stony flesh.

But why were his legs human?

Because, you realized, this was a different time. One where he wasn’t fully the demon you knew.

_I’m trapped in his memory. The_ wrong_ memory._

_“Bucky…”_

Your pained whisper went unnoticed. Of course it would. You were just a passive observer over something that had already happened. But _when_ had this happened? What exactly were you witnessing?

Seeking the answers, you paid attention to the man who was addressing Bucky. He carried a strange red tome with a pentagram on the cover, and it was from here he’d recited the nonsensical words. He closed the book shut with a definitive snap and set it aside, turning his cold gaze on the demon in the chair.

“Good morning, Soldier,” he spoke in the language you didn’t know but could somehow understand. It sounded Slavic, possibly Russian.

Bucky answered in a low growl you barely recognized.

“Ready to comply.”

You wanted to run to him. Scream at him. Shake him awake from this nightmare. But it had already happened, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

“I have a mission for you.” The man held out a folder to Bucky, fully expecting his cooperation. “Sanction and extract. No witnesses.”

Bucky lowered his gaze… and looked up. Directly at you.

You’d encountered many things that had terrified you. _Alpen._ Heigore. A cursed flesh-book that communicated with your own blood. All those things couldn’t have prepared you for the existential terror that gripped your body in a vice.

Bucky took the folder without glancing at it, his dead, empty gaze still focused on you. He rose from the chair and walked forward. You flinched and braced yourself, but he walked past, close enough you could feel the displacement of air.

You were just a ghost to him. That fact didn’t erase the chill that clung to your skin like dread.

The scene blurred and shifted, and you nearly lost your balance. But of course, you couldn’t fall. You couldn’t tell what was different at first—the room looked exactly the same, though there were less people in it. Bucky and the uniformed officer were standing near the chair.

The man opened a silver briefcase while Bucky stood at his side, also gazing down at the contents. IV bags full of blue liquid. You didn’t understand the significance, didn’t even know what year it was, but it felt horribly important.

“Well done, Soldier.”

Bucky said nothing, eyes just as hollow and empty as before. This wasn’t truly Bucky. The looming, dark figure that wore his face was the infamous Winter Soldier.

“Would you like your reward now?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bucky responded in that same low growl, the one devoid of personality and humanity.

You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, but nothing came out except a shaky breath. Hopefully that meant you couldn’t vomit in a memory, because you were dangerously close to doing so. After what Bucky had told you, it wasn’t difficult to guess what “reward” this man planned for him.

Being unable to move did not spare you from avoiding the next scene. The air around you shifted again, and this time it truly did change. You sensed it was in the same research facility or bunker—the place had that heavy, underground feel to it—but it was in a smaller, warmer space. Dotted with furniture made of dark wood, electric lamps flickering on the walls, and to the side a large bed draped in a thick green blanket.

A bedroom.

Your stomach roiled violently, but the two occupants were ignorant of your presence and distress.

Bucky stood in the center of the room, his hands placed behind his back. His guise was back in place, his demonic features gone, but it did nothing to make him appear any more human.

“At first, I found this method of feeding to be… inconvenient.”

Your head turned unwillingly toward the source of the voice. _Colonel._ That’s what Bucky had called him.

“But as time moves on, and you continue to be a faithful soldier…” The Colonel traced a pale finger down Bucky’s jaw, the man’s stare no longer cold. It was interested, predatory. Simmering. “…I can see the benefits of partaking in such a meal.”

Bile rose in your throat, and you curled your hands into tight fists at your side. Your eyes stung so badly you had to blink to keep your vision clear.

Were you really going to have to watch this? This horrible thing that Bucky would never have wanted to show you of his own free will? Where _was_ he? Why wasn’t he with you? Surely he would be just another observer of his own memories, not forced to be a participant.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

“I live to serve you, Master.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The man slapped Bucky across the face, open-handed.

Bucky did nothing but slowly turn his head forward again.

“Do not use such barbaric language,” the man hissed. “It does not become you.”

Bucky dropped his gaze, but there was nothing contrite in his deadened tone.

“My apologies, sir.”

Raising a hand, the man softly patted the cheek he’d just slapped.

“All is forgiven. You are the relic of a bygone era. It is not in your nature to adapt, only to obey and to feed. Isn’t that right?”

Bucky’s downcast eyes focused on the man’s belt buckle as he unlatched it. The hunger was the first sign of life that you’d seen in them so far.

_This can’t be happening,_ you thought. Prayed. _Please, no._

“On your knees, Soldier.”

Bucky obeyed without hesitation, dropping into a kneeling position as he stared up at the Colonel expectantly. The man finished unbuckling his belt and opened his pants, pushing them and his underwear down far enough to pull himself out.

You wanted to look away. Turn your head and pretend it wasn’t happening. But it _had_ happened, to Bucky. He’d actually lived this while all you had to do was watch. Witnessing what he’d had to endure was the least you could do, and it wasn’t as if you had a choice, either way.

“Tell me,” the man said as he began to stroke his half-hard cock. “What was it like?”

Bucky said nothing but slightly tilted his head in an unspoken question. The Colonel huffed, a hint of impatience.

“What was it like to kill _him?”_ he clarified. “The great Howard Stark?”

_Howard Stark?_ you wondered, the name fresh on your mind from your recent search on Bucky’s past.

In your confusion, you almost missed it. The flutter of his eyelashes, the flash of tension in Bucky’s jaw. It was a sign you’d seen many times before when Bucky was irritated. Irritated and about to say something scathing.

The motion was quick, subtle, and the man didn’t notice. But you did.

Bucky remained silent, but the man above him, still stroking himself to hardness, kept speaking.

“I wish I could have been there to see it. America’s most brilliant industrialist. The Icon of America’s Strength. Butchered by nothing more than a Soviet ghost.”

The man’s smirk grew and Bucky’s frown deepened. His eyes were no longer staring hungrily at the Colonel’s exposed cock, but past him, far away. Growing darker with every word the man spoke.

“It is almost a shame no one will know the truth. That the _boogieman_ they all fear is quite real and far worse than their deepest nightmares.” The man sighed wistfully, then blinked, seeming to remember what he was doing as he gazed down at Bucky.

“Either way, you served your purpose well. Now… open.”

Bucky stayed motionless. He didn’t seem to even hear the command, staring forward as the corners of his lips tightened.

The Colonel frowned, more perturbed than angry.

“Were you damaged during the mission?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, open.”

Bucky did not. The man scowled, finally noticing the Winter Soldier was no longer willing to take orders.

_“Open, Soldier.”_

Bucky winced, favoring his left shoulder. A painful punishment, you realized, for disobeying. The mark was compelling him to listen, and yet… he didn’t. He remained on his knees, posture rigid even as blood trickled from the pentagram carved into his skin.

Fingers wrapped in Bucky’s unkempt hair and yanked backwards, forcing him to look up. The Colonel gave him a cruel shake, eyes blazing with the aggression of a dominant figure being ignored.

_“Obey me!”_

Bucky stared at him. _Truly_. There was no vacant emptiness in his eyes now. There was only quiet fury.

“No.”

With Bucky’s answer, the air shimmered around him. Wings unfurled, horns swept backwards, tail angrily lashing against the floor.

The Colonel scrambled backwards as Bucky rose to his feet. The man clumsily stuffed himself into his pants, tripping over his feet as he grasped at something on his desk.

Bucky descended on him, raising his right arm and flexing his fingers to extend his dark claws.

The man spun around and fired. The sound was deafening in the small space, but you could still hear Bucky’s howl of pain

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, bleeding profusely from where he’d been shot at the exposed part of his arm. He stomped forward, determination twisting his features, but the man fired again, this time into Bucky’s chest.

A klaxon blared above and you covered your ears the same moment Bucky covered his, and he snarled miserably before stumbling out of the room. He fled down the hall, the tips of his wings brushing against the concrete walls on either side, but there were already soldiers coming after him. From many of the terrified, shocked expressions on their faces, many of them had no idea what Bucky truly was.

They gunned him down, all the same.

Up until that moment, you’d been so enraptured by the memory that you’d nearly faded into it, forgetting yourself and beginning to experience Bucky’s emotions as if they were your own.

Watching Bucky fall, bleeding profusely from multiple bullet holes, changed that. You were very aware of your own mind, of the horror and grief that gripped it as you sank to your knees beside him.

He gasped for breath, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep them open. And then he looked at you. He looked right at you and _saw you._

Blood bubbled up from his mouth, but his expression was… calm. No, more than that. _Relieved._ The nightmare was over. They would never use him again.

You reached out, tears burning your eyes as your fingertips brushed against his cheek. But he vanished under your fingertips; Bucky’s body collapsed and fluttered away as if dust.

Or ashes.

The latter felt more accurate to you, because the next breath you took was searing. The cold of the bunker was replaced by a barren landscape of red rock and burning, sulfuric air.

The pull you’d experienced earlier, the tug toward something deeper in Bucky’s memory, it was too strong to refuse this time.

When you opened your mouth to cry out, you coughed and gagged instead, and the next breath you took was not your own.


	27. Prescient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier wakes up in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Memory loss, PTSD

The Soldier gasped, followed by immediate coughing and gagging as if his lungs were being seared from the inside-out. The air was so hot it burned and he wheezed as the dryness of it irritated each breath he took.

Opening his eyes did absolutely nothing to clue him in as to where he was, or assuage his growing panic. The sky was dusty and red along the horizon, but straight above him was a strange nightscape. There were two moons or small planets, close enough that their circumferences were hidden past the horizon.

It was the spattering of stars that made him go still with shock. The Soldier didn’t recognize a single constellation, nor could he tell where the light around him was coming from. Only that there was a circle of darkness that blocked out the stars, as if the sun itself was a void.

He carefully sat up and looked down at himself, finding his uniform was tattered, singed with burn marks and spattered with bullet holes. Even now he could hear the echo of close-range gunfire and the impact of his body being riddled with Soviet slugs. The Soldier lifted his tac vest and traced his hand along his stomach. The skin was smooth and clean, no trace of wounds or blood.

He raised his head to take in his surroundings, confirming what his training told him. He was dead, and this was Hell. A sandy landscape, dotted with jagged outcroppings of rocks, went as far as the eye could see. In the distance was a range of craggy mountains, but he had no way of knowing how far it was or how high the peaks truly rose.

What was most disturbing was the color of this world. From the claylike soil to the volcanic rock, everything was a various shade of red. Rose, crimson, dusky, blood. Even the stars above him seemed to be tinged with the harsh color.

The Soldier coughed again, wincing as the hot wind wiped at his face and stung his eyes with sand. As he rose to his feet he expected to feel sore at best, in agony at worse. Instead, he was… full. Sated with energy in a way he only felt the hours after a feeding. After the healing he’d just done, he should have gone into a severe heat almost immediately.

Instead, he felt… he felt… good. _Strong._ At least, the parts of him that were truly demonic. The weak human parts, the parts that belonged to the HYDRA soldier who had donated his body to the cause, those parts of him were not meant to survive in a place like this.

_You’re in the demon realm._

The Soldier jerked up his head but couldn’t identify the source of the voice. It had been… internal. Coming from within. It wasn’t a voice he recognized.

Sometimes, when the Soldier grew confused, he would sense… an_ other_ within himself. His master (he couldn’t remember which, he’d had so many) would grow angry if the Soldier spoke of it.

But this was not the same voice that had spoken. This one was different. Unfamiliar.

_You have to move. Find shelter. It isn’t safe here._

The Soldier didn’t know the purpose or agenda of the voice, but it spoke the truth in this instance. He couldn’t sit here in the sand until it covered all trace of him. The Soldier knew how to survive in hostile, unknown terrain.

Step one: find the highest vantage point.

Step two: Establish shelter within walking distance of water.

Step three: Secure the shelter so enemies can be spotted before being alerted to the Soldier’s presence.

Shelter. Water. Safety.

Food was the last priority. He didn’t need to worry about staying in one place for an extraction. No one was coming for the Soldier. Perhaps considering what he had done, that was for the best.

_What was it like to kill him? The great Howard Stark?_

His fists curled at his side, nostrils flaring as anger flooded his body.

_That’s over now,_ the voice said. Not the low voice of his master. This was the new voice, the one he didn’t know. _They can’t hurt you anymore. But things here can. Please, be careful._

The voice was kind. Gentle. Did the Soldier know kindness, once?

_You will. One day, I promise, you will._

The Soldier didn’t trust the voice, but chose to ignore it for now. After he had secured a shelter and established a parameter, then he would investigate the source of the strange other.

Expanding his wings, the Soldier flexed them experimentally and found them likewise whole and strong. He gave several test strokes before leaping, taking to the air as naturally as any bird. The wind buffeted him but he easily adjusted, and he couldn’t help but revel in the feeling. The last time he’d gotten to free-fly was to claw out the tire of Stark’s vehicle—

The Soldier shook away the disturbing thoughts. His last mission to retrieve the briefcase and assassinate the Starks had filled him with so many confusing emotions. His fury at the Colonel seemingly came from nowhere, and he decided it was best to put the entire matter out of his mind.

The Soldier spent the better part of an hour flying, scanning the horizon for a location that would provide shelter, and he found it. A large series of hills and boulders that hid an opening, and inside he found a system of caves where he could take refuse from the relentless, dry wind. Once he landed, he explored the weaving tunnels, lit either by openings to the surface or by glowing fungus. Where there was fungus, he knew there was moisture, and he soon found that too.

Underground rivers. The Soldier expected the water to kill him, but it didn’t, and he found he wasn’t very thirsty. The fungus was sustaining, and further in the cave system he found strange shoots that resembled bamboo. The fleshy fibers inside made him believe it was an animal rather than a plant, but it didn’t matter. He ate it raw, and that didn’t kill him either.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he could die. Or if he did, where would he go, then? Shivering, he pushed out the thought before it could take hold.

Satisfied with a source of food and water, he found a hollow that was hidden from the river but dotted with small holes along the ceiling to let in light. Having nothing but the ragged clothes on his back, he laid down to rest.

Against his will, he dozed off. He didn’t remember sleeping before. Just the cryo-chamber. When the Soldier awoke, still plagued by strange and horrible images of what he knew were nightmares, he decided he didn’t like sleep.

Over the next few days of adjusting to his new life, the Soldier began to remember the missions more clearly now that the Machine no longer burned away his thoughts. With nothing else to do, he reflected on these missions, and especially on the one that changed everything. He still didn’t understand why the name Howard Stark had filled him with such raw agony. Even now, it hurt to recall the memory of killing the human and his mate, staging their death to resemble an alcohol-induced crash.

The Soldier survived. And he waited. He didn’t know what for. He never did find the owner of the voice. It spoke to him often, telling him to be careful, to not give up hope. He ignored it, sometimes to the point where it was only a buzzing in his ear, like an annoying insect.

Eventually, he realized it had stopped talking to him. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last heard it speak, and something about that filled him with unease.

“Are you…” He cleared his throat, raw with disuse. “Are you… still there?”

The minutes, according to his internal clock, ticked by. It was six minutes and seven seconds before he got a response.

_Yes. I’m here._

“You sound…” He struggled with the word. “Tired.”

_I am,_ it replied with that same soft quietness. It hadn’t been so quiet before. Distant. _We’ve been here a while. I’m starting to forget things._

“Things?” The voice said nothing. The Soldier grew frustrated. “What—who are you?”

_I can’t tell you that._

The Soldier leaned back against the wall, frowning down at the cave floor as if he could make the voice appear. It did not.

_But I can tell you who _you_ are._

The Soldier scoffed, scratching an itch along the back of his neck. It had been a few days since he’d bathed in the river. He’d have to do it again soon.

“I’m a demon. Summoned to serve my masters.”

_That’s a lie._

He tilted his head, interest piqued. Not at the words, but at the sudden flare of anger he sensed.

_You weren’t always a demon, and HYDRA didn’t summon you. You were born human._

“Now who speaks lies?”

He sensed the wave of anger again, and something about it made his tail flex and his lips twitch upwards. He was… smiling?

_Your name,_ the voice proclaimed, _is James Buchanan Barnes._

“What a ridiculous name.”

_Blame your mother, not me._

The Soldier snorted and rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile remained on his lips.

“If you know so much, then how do I leave this place?”

He could feel its hesitation. It seemed the longer he spoke to the voice, the stronger it became. It was beginning to feel like an actual presence rather than just words in his head.

_I don’t… know._

“Then you are useless to me.”

The Soldier stood and walked to its hollow entrance, already stripping off what was left of his uniform to bathe.

_Wait! You will escape, eventually, but I just need to figure it out!_

The Soldier ignored the voice. He knew if he ignored it for long enough, it would go away again. It seemed to realize this too from the sudden desperation in its tone.

_I can prove that you were human! Howard Stark!_

The Soldier froze in his tracks, his wings ruffling as the plates on his arm shifted.

_You… you knew him. Back during the war. He helped rescue you from HYDRA the first time they captured you. You admired him, idolized him. You even went to the Stark Expo to see him with Steve Rogers—_

Pain ripped through his chest and he growled as he bent forward. That name, something about that name. It held power, or it had once. Now, it just _hurt._

“Witch,” he hissed, teeth bared. “_Sorcerer!_ Leave me alone!”

_No, no, I’m not! Please, listen! _the voice in his head cried._ HYDRA captured you. Tormented you. Did unspeakable things to you! It’s their fault; they did all of this to you!_

He gripped his head, claws digging into his scalp hard enough to sting. His tail lashed and his wings flapped open in a panic, knocking chips off the cave wall.

_“Shut up!”_

His scream rang hollow against the cave walls, echoing back until fading into silence.

The silence stayed. The voice was gone, and it didn’t return for a very long time. It might have been days, weeks, or months. Time didn’t mean much on this world where the day cycle lasted for eternity.

Or it seemed to. One day, the strange sunless light vanished, and the Soldier was left in the dark to wonder if he would see it again.

The Soldier had been scratching tally marks on the wall, trained to mark the passage of time. He sensed he’d done something similar before, but he didn’t know where. According to his marks, night had finally fallen after the tenth week. He hoped the night didn’t last as long as the day. It was beginning to grow cold.

The Soldier hated the cold.

It was in a moment of weakness, as he lied shivering on the bare floor, that he finally spoke.

“Are you there?”

The voice didn’t answer. He didn’t expect it to. It had been so long since he’d screamed at it to go away. He regretted that now.

“Please…” He gave a harsh shiver and wrapped his wings tighter around his miserable body. “…Please, come back.”

He had nearly accepted that the voice was truly gone, when he heard a faint, _I’m here._

The Soldier shuddered in relief. He wasn’t alone.

_No, you’re not alone._

Had he said that out loud? He couldn’t remember.

_You didn’t. But sometimes, I can hear you anyway. _The voice made a noise of amusement, but it was sad too._ I don’t think I could leave, even if I wanted to._

It sighed, still sounding too weak. He didn’t like that it sounded that way.

_And I don’t want to leave. Not without you._

The Soldier curled his fingers tighter around his wing, seeking warmth and comfort where there was none. He’d never needed it before. What was wrong with him? He was a loyal soldier, an obedient slave, the very Fist of HYDRA. He wasn’t this weak, quivering thing. Huddled on the floor like a beaten mongrel.

And yet, he couldn’t stop talking to the voice once he’d started.

“Why?” he rasped. “Why are you here? Who are you? Where did you come from?”

The voice made the amused sound again. This time, it wasn’t as sorrowful.

_So many questions. I’m happy they didn’t kill your curiosity. _The voice grew serious._ I think I got lost. Or trapped. Or… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter where I came from. Just that I’m not going anywhere without you. Okay?_

The voice was growing stronger again. There was warmth there, life. A person?

_Yes,_ it answered.

“What’s your name?”

_Can’t say._

The Soldier released a sharp snort, and for a reason he couldn’t identify, the voice laughed. He didn’t remember it ever laughing before.

_If everything happens as it should, you’ll find out soon enough, Bucky._

“Bucky?” he asked, brows furrowed. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Instead of a verbal answer, warmth filled his limbs, effectively chasing away the chill and the shivering wretchedness that had owned him since the light had died.

It felt as if… someone where embracing him, enveloping him in their body heat, but when he opened his eyes he was still alone. He found he no longer minded, and the fear had vanished along with the chill.

_That’s you,_ the voice hummed. _You’re Bucky._

It sounded happy. The Soldier was glad for that, he thought. Perhaps the voice could be an ally, a way for him to survive. Whether it spoke the truth about who, and what, he was, that remained to be seen.

But the voice also sounded tired, as if the conversation had been draining, and he could certainly feel it had less energy than it had had before.

The Soldier knew, deep down in a place he dared not look at for too long, that he wouldn’t send away the voice again.

“I’m… Bucky,” he repeated, unsure.

_Yes._

The voice said nothing more for the remainder of the night, though with the warm comfort wrapped around his limbs, the Soldier knew it was still with him. By the time the sun rose a few hours later, he had fallen into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.


	28. Protean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky settles into his new life in Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your comments. I haven't left many notes because I didn't want to talk a lot and get in the way of your reading experience. Just know that I love and appreciate you all.
> 
> Lots of plot for the next few chapters, and I promise all of your questions will be answered eventually. Bucky will make references to his time with Hydra, and if you haven't read the Downward Spiral (which I recommend) then some of it won't make sense.
> 
> The author and creator of demon Bucky made a summary of that fic [here](http://arania.kamiki.net/misc/fanfics/tdssummary.htm) so you can look it over to get a good idea of what happened to our Bucky during that time. It's all "canon" for Branded with the exception of the last chapter. Our Bucky was killed in 1991 after the Howard Stark assassination, and he never took part of the events of the Winter Soldier movie.
> 
> Now sit back, relax, and welcome to Hell.

The years were tallied and the rare nights were marked, and Bucky did so, but not alone. He never told the voice to leave again, and it had stayed by his side ever since.

The road back to himself had been a painful one, but the voice never let him down. It told him things about himself he couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t until his mind began to heal and he remembered things for himself that he fully trusted the voice. Everything it had told him was true. His curiosity for the nameless entity only grew over time, made stronger by the fact it was so secretive.

Somedays, they were simply amicable companions. Even friends. It reminded Bucky of the comradery he shared with the Howling Commandos, and it made his chest ache. He thought of Steve, and the pain was nearly unbearable, so he tried not to think of him at all. Maybe he would later, after Bucky escaped this cursed world. If he ever did.

The voice still wouldn’t tell him who it was or even _what _it was. Bucky was disconcerted by the fact that as he regained his memories, it was possible the voice was not even real. After everything he’d endured, after Zola had robbed him of his humanity and Lukin had shaped him onto a monster, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he was as mad as a hatter.

He also decided he didn’t care. He was in Hell—if not the biblical one than very close to it—and he couldn’t survive without an ally. Imaginary or not.

There were other things that lived in this world. Terrible things as large as mountains, roaming in the distance and leaving valleys of sand in their wake. There were also smaller demons, but still considerably larger than Bucky. He avoided them when he could, but it wasn’t always possible. In those moments, he’d either defend himself until they ran, or he killed them with his bare claws.

He never ate the flesh. One, he didn’t know if it was edible, and two, it felt… cannibalistic. A large part of Bucky was from this place, as evidenced by the fact he never needed to feed the demon side of him. Thank Christ for that. If it was between dying and getting fucked by one of those creatures out there, he would have gladly offed himself.

But he never had to. Why would he, when all the demonic energy he needed was right here, beaming down from the never-ending sunlight. It was harsh, and the human part of him wanted to seek shelter from it, but the demon was more than happy to bask in its warmth. Sated in a way it had rarely been back on Earth.

As he grew bolder and explored his “territory,” Bucky came upon curious artifacts. Things that looked too manmade to be a coincidence, but it was always ancient and cracked stone. Designs that looked Greek or Roman.

On an especially productive exploration, he came across what looked like a rudimentary camp. Broken pottery, busted wooden furniture, and even some ancient books that crumbled in his hands when he picked them up. There was a hefty tome that had somehow survived, and Bucky took it back to his cave, hoping to explore it later, but he was disappointed to find the ink too faded to read.

Bored and with way too much time on his hands, Bucky managed to fashion a writing utensil made of a “bamboo” shoot, honed to an edge, along with some ink made of lichen and moss. The relief of being able to do something as human such as_ journaling_ made Bucky laugh for the first time in… a long time. He began to document his daily excursions. It made him feel less like a prisoner and more like an explorer, but even then he couldn’t drop the habit of marking ticks on a wall to count the days. And there were many, many ticks.

There was evidence that humans had been on this world in other ways. For the few creatures that seemed to speak a language, they always spoke in Latin. Bucky couldn’t fathom it until he remembered the red book, the one that had controlled him. It had been inscribed in Latin, and his so-called masters had made sure to teach him to speak and read it. HYDRA couldn’t have been the first to summon demonic entities, and perhaps Latin had been their way of communicating with the demons they summoned?

Bucky didn’t know. He didn’t think it was important either, but the voice always got excited when he stumbled across a new ruin or found a new item of manmade design. That alone was enough to make him go out of his way to find more. He liked when the voice was happy, even if he didn’t quite know why.

And the voice was happiest when Bucky flew. The first time he realized it was when he was doing it simply for the exercise, not having anywhere he wanted to explore. Letting his mind go calm and quiet, he found he was able to pay better attention to the entity in his head. He could sense its awe and wonder as they flew high above the hellscape.

Bucky could understand. When his wings had first appeared, he hadn’t hated them. The boy who’d loved comic books and super hero pictures had been fascinated with them, and getting to fly was one of the few times he’d felt free while in HYDRA’s control.

He sensed a little bit of sadness from the voice too, and a physical longing for something. It didn’t hit Bucky until that moment the possibility that the voice might once have had a body, one it had lost, and now it was trapped here with Bucky.

His suspicions were founded when its “presence” grew, expanded within his body, until it was filling him up to the fingertips. Bucky gladly pulled back, allowing the voice to take temporary control.

It wasn’t expecting that, apparently, because Bucky’s wings slanted at an angle and they almost dropped from the sky. The voice took control of his wings and flapped in a panic, like a baby bird fallen from the nest.

“Calm down,” he said, still having control of his voice but he sounded far away to his own ears. “Just do it the way I do it and you’ll be fine.”

_I-I shouldn’t-this isn’t right—_

Bucky sighed but took control of his body when he sensed the voice pulling back, its presence tinged with horror. He hadn’t wanted to upset it, but at least it was calming down now that he had control again. Poor thing probably hadn’t meant to reach so far into Bucky’s body to begin with.

“If you ever change your mind and want a turn at the wheel, just say the word. I trust you, sweetheart.”

Bucky blinked. Why had he said that? He didn’t know, but by the way the voice went suddenly dead silent, he wondered if he’d gone too far. Been too familiar. Probably had. He’d have to be more careful in the future. It would be just his luck to scare away the one person he had left.

He couldn’t tell if it was human, but it spoke like one. He couldn’t tell its gender, either. Age, race, nationality? Hadn’t a clue. He wasn’t even entirely sure what language it spoke and if the words he heard in his head were literal or some kind of mental translation.

One thing Bucky knew, even if it was the most confusing fact of all: The voice cared about him.

After everything he’d done, Bucky knew it was undeserved. It didn’t stop him from being selfish and clinging to the voice like a lifeline, though.

When Bucky woke from nightmares, shaking and gasping in terror, the voice was there, wrapping warmth and comfort around him. In those moments, he felt especially weak, because he wished more than anything the voice was real. Tangible. Something he could hold and touch.

He didn’t even have a name to call it by. It wouldn’t tell him, so Bucky had said _fuck it_ and tried to come up with one on his own, but they all felt… wrong.

He wished he knew. The one thing Bucky wanted more than to escape this world was to finally meet the owner of that voice.

That urge had never been stronger than the day they found the corpse.

It had been a day like any other, without end under the relentless pale red starry sky, and Bucky had been exploring more of the ancient ruins. He came across a structure that looked different from the rest, almost handmade and clearly thrown together in a hurry. The occupant was still inside, and by the looks of it, had been for many years.

Bucky had come across many corpses in this world, all of the demonic variety, but this one was clearly human. The body was desiccated, mummified and preserved by the hot, dry air. Bits of tattered faded clothing covered its chest and hips, not enough to discern what nation or era they came from. How they’d gotten there, Bucky didn’t have a clue. They came along with the rest of the human ruins, he supposed, but it was strange this was the first actual human body he’d come across.

He’d been about to turn away, leaving the bones undisturbed, when something caught his eye. On the mummified shoulder, stretched but not beyond recognition, was a pentagram carved into the skin.

Bucky’s eyes widened. Another demon that had once been human like him? That had been his initial thought… until the voice reacted so violently that Bucky could actually feel the anxiety shooting through his limbs.

“What?” he insisted. “What is it?”

_I…_

The voice seemed to be at a loss for words, fear that was not his own seeping into Bucky’s mind.

“Hey, come one. Tell me what’s got you so riled up. Do you know this guy?” Bucky didn’t see how, but that’s almost how it felt. As if the voice had recognized the corpse.

_N… no,_ it finally said. _It’s… it’s nothing._

No matter how much Bucky tried to pry for the truth, he couldn’t get a straight answer, and it only seemed to agitate the voice to the point where it couldn’t speak, fear pulsing from it like a living thing.

Bucky left the corpse where it was, doing his best to project calmness toward the entity sharing his mind. But the voice didn’t speak again until he returned to what he thought as “our cave,” and it took several days for it to return to its usual outgoing self.

They didn’t talk about it again, but Bucky never forgot how the voice reacted to that corpse with the pentagram scar. And some days, when the voice was quiet and sad, he knew it hadn’t forgotten either.

The next time Bucky decided to venture outside of his territory, he waited until the voice was in good spirits. Bucky smiled at his own pun.

_Penny for your thoughts?_

Bucky snorted. Maybe the voice had pulled phrases like that from his head to make him feel more comfortable, but he didn’t think so. He was sure the damn thing was human, or was at least from Earth. By paying attention to how it said things, rather than what it said, Bucky found he learned a lot more than by asking it straight-on personal questions.

For one, it seemed to appreciate sarcastic humor, and Bucky was never in short supply.

“It would be a penny more than I have,” he said, poking at a suspicious mound of dirt. This area had been promising; he’d even found a couple of dusty robes at one point. Bucky hadn’t been able to tell how old they were, but they’d definitely been the right shape and size for a human.

_I suppose you are destitute. What would buy, right now, if you could?_

“A blueberry slushy,” Bucky lamented. “And new boots.”

He stared mournfully at what was left of his old pair, torn apart by his expanding, clawed feet. HYDRA had told him his transition had been complete after they’d done an especially horrible ritual on him, but apparently, they’d lied. Big shocker there.

“Do you miss slushies?” Bucky kept his tone carefully neutral.

_Sure,_ it answered, just as vaguely, as it always did. Bucky heaved a sigh.

“Come on, give me something,” he grumbled as he trekked over the deep sand. “We’ve been here… how long?”

_Forty-eight years and thirty-two days._

Had it really been that long? It seemed… shorter, somehow. And also infinitely longer.

“Exactly. Almost five decades, and I don’t know anything about you!”

_That’s not true, _it said, going soft. Sometimes it did that, as if thinking fondly of some far away past. _You know me better than anyone._

“Yeah. Right.”

_It’s true!_

“I don’t even know your name.” Bucky kicked over a large rock, finding nothing but a bright red reptile underneath. It scurried away, hissing indignantly.

“What, is it a witch thing? If I know your name, your sinister powers won’t work on me?”

_Don’t be dumb._

“I’m not dumb. You’re dumb. _Witch_.”

_Oh, my God, I’m not a witch._

“Well, unless you’re the figment of a shattered psyche, then you’re_ something_. _Witch_ is as good a guess as any.”

The voice gave a huff. Bucky could imagine it pouting like a child, and he grinned.

_How is it that no matter what planet you’re on, you’re still the same smartass that I—_

The voice stopped and Bucky’s head snapped up, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. Something had shifted in the air, and a second later, the ground rumbled under his feet.

At first, he thought it was one of the mountain-beasts, but this felt… different. Sharper. Every nerve ending was tingling and he leaned forward, hungrily. Not the demonic part of him. The part that was human.

He could smell it. _Earth._

_That’s it!_ the voice shouted. _Over there!_

He could see it in the distance—a glowing oval that looked as if it was bordered with blue fire.

Bucky didn’t move.

_What are you doing!_ The voice screamed at him. _You have to go! Now!_

“I…” He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding as he couldn’t seem to get enough air. His legs wouldn’t move and his tail stuck out at an upward angle like a frightened cat’s.

Bucky didn’t know what he was doing. More importantly, he didn’t know what was beyond that portal. What if the world he went back to wasn’t like the one he left? What if he returned just to be caught by HYDRA? What if he had to feed again?

And the most terrifying question of all: what would happen to his little ghost?

There were too many unknowns, too many variables. This place may be actual Hell, but at least he’d carved out a place that was his own. He knew what each day would be like and what to expect. He had no such information about what lay on the other side of that ring of fire.

_Bucky, please,_ it pleaded. _I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me. You have to go through that portal. You’re meant to go through!_

He stared at the object, no larger than a pebble from this distance, but nothing had filled him with so much fear. Not even the things he could hear crawling around his cave during the rare nights.

“I can’t,” he croaked out. He was cowardly, and he hated himself for it, but he still couldn’t budge.

_Yes, you can. You can and you have to!_

Several emotions flickered through Bucky’s mind, all coming entirely from the voice, too strong for it to hide from him. Sorrow, yearning, grief.

…Love?

“What’s on the other side?” he asked, suddenly desperate. “What will I find when I cross?”

Through their connection raced an ache so powerful it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

_Me._

The fear keeping him immobilized shattered, and he spread his wings and took to the air. He raced to the portal, narrowing his eyes against the heated wind as he zeroed in on his target.

There were other demons below, drawn by the otherworldly energy flowing through the fiery blue portal. A dark green humanoid demon slipped through, a slithering, worm-like creature following after. Bucky ignored them, ignored _everything_ except the portal.

The last thing he remembered was the voice telling him to _land and_ _run._

Bucky slammed into the ground in front of the portal. A demon that looked half-bull, half-bear was to his right, and it gave a roar and swung its claws when it realized he was there.

Bucky ducked under its outstretched arm—stupid beast wouldn’t even be able to_ fit_ through the portal—and he slipped around the larger demon. He pushed off from the ground, claws digging into the sand, and he leapt through…

…to land on a child’s bedroom floor.


	29. Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is back on Earth, summoned by a strange child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kronk's voice* Oh, yeah. It's all coming together.

It was cold.

Bucky was frozen, the air like a flash freeze over his skin. The warmth he’d been used to vanished as the portal closed behind him. It hurt to breathe, hurt to _think_. There were so many scents, overwhelming after the dry, dead air of the demon realm.

The noises pressed on his sensitive hearing: air conditions, cars driving in the distance, electric appliances and fixtures. He bent his head and covered his ears, whining, but it didn’t help.

He was accustomed to bright, endless daylight. That wasn’t the reason he squeezed his eyes shut. There’d only been one color in the world he’d escaped.

Now he was surrounded in greens and tans and blues and whites. He couldn’t see the sky; he was indoors, in a house. He couldn’t _breathe._ He scrambled for safety, the first spot of darkness he could find, under a twin bed. Bucky laid still, curled into a ball with his tail and wings shielding him as he trembled.

In contrast to the assault on his other senses, his sense of touch was cushioned by the carpet, so much softer than the stone floor of his cave. There wasn’t much left to his tac pants and vest, so he experienced the full effect against his skin.

Bucky nearly stretched out on it, marveling at the soft texture, but he went still. There was a second presence in the room. A pair of eyes staring at him hiding under the bed.

A human child. A girl. Couldn’t be more than ten years old.

Bucky curled himself inwards further, terrified, of what he didn’t know. Just that everything was too much and he couldn’t stop fucking_ shaking._

“Don’t be scared,” the little voice said. “I won’t hurt you.”

Bucky would have laughed if his abdominal muscles weren’t clenched like a vice. It was funny. _Horrifying._ Why wasn’t she running? Bucky hadn’t used his guise in a long time and he couldn’t summon it now, too overwhelmed to control his tenuous-grasp of magic. His wings and horns and claws were partially obscured by the shadows, but if anything, that should have made him appear more fearsome, not less.

“What’s your name?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

Bucky tried to speak but all that emerged was a choked whimper. He couldn’t even look at her he was trembling so badly. It was like a horrible withdrawal, or an adrenaline rush that wouldn’t stop. He half-wondered if he was dying, or maybe, this is what it felt like to come back to life.

“Here.”

He uncurled enough to look upwards. The girl was holding something out to him from where she knelt, peeking under the bed.

“Mr. Squiggles helps me when I’m scared,” she said with the bright confidence only a child could have. “Go on. Take him.”

Bucky stared at the stuffed animal. Its grey fur was worn, its dark eyes dull. Clearly well-loved and treasured.

He’d had a toy like that, once. A teddy bear with button eyes. He’d loved it so much, but then he and Becca had gotten sick. His parents had burned the toy, along with most of their clothing.

Even now, he could remember how upset he’d been, and how much a child’s toy meant. And this child, who’d just had a demon dropped into her bedroom, was offering it to him because he was _scared._

Something surged in his chest. Gratefulness. Sorrow. A fierce protectiveness for this stupidly brave kid.

Bucky reached out to take the toy, claws shaking as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the tabby cat’s leg.

A strange sensation jolted up his arm, following by intense warmth at his shoulder, directly over his mark. And then it was gone.

“You must be hungry,” the girl whispered conspiratorially as Bucky tucked the toy against his chest. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed a thing. “I’ll get you something to eat! Stay here!”

She dashed from the room without waiting for an answer. Bucky planned to stay put, to come up with what he should do next, but at the words _you must be hungry_, a vast, devastating hunger hit him directly in the gut.

It wasn’t for food.

_I need… I need to get out of here. _His movements were panicked, clumsy as he crawled out from under the bed. _I need to…_

Before he could look for an escape the kid returned to the room, nearly smacking right into Bucky. He recoiled backwards away from her, putting space between them, but she only looked up in him in confusion. Then she smiled and held out the plate she carried, a sandwich perched on top. Peanut butter and blueberry jelly.

Saliva flooded his mouth as his stomach rumbled, but he dared not move any closer to her. The demon side of him had no interest in the kid, thank Christ for that, but he was still terrified of hurting her. He was designed to be a living weapon, after all. Not exactly child-friendly.

He just wished the kid would get the memo.

“Go on,” she said, smiling brightly. “Take it. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of him. It was like a baby kitten trying to soothe and comfort a lion. Bucky towered over her, his wings and horns still on full display, but she just stared up at him with wonder and awe. No sense of self-preservation at all.

Figuring he would at least address one of his hungers, he took the plate from her as if it was a live grenade. Satisfied, she beamed up at him and then went to close her bedroom door.

“I don’t think my friends are coming back, they all ran away when that blue portal appeared. That’s what that was, right? And you’re a demon?”

Bucky choked on the first bite of sandwich he took.

“That’s what I thought.” She nodded sagely, the ribbons of her ridiculous pigtails flapping with the movement. “I told them I could do magic, but they didn’t believe me. Bet they will now!”

Her face fell a little as she looked past Bucky, and she mumbled, “Mom is definitely going to ground me.”

Bucky followed her gaze to the open closet doors. Extinguished black candles were scattered on the carpet surrounding what appeared to be a charred spirit board. But what really drew Bucky’s eye was the state of the closet door and the back of the closet itself: charred as if there had recently been a fire. He could still smell the stench of sulfur, and he shivered. He would not miss_ that_ place, that was for sure.

Quickly scarfing down the food—when had Bucky last had a good, ol’ fashioned PB&J?—he eyed the kid warily. She kept talking about magic and how her mother always blamed her for things catching on fire around the house, but it wasn’t _her_ fault. On and on she went, as if she was talking to another human being and not a six-foot tall demon. She was way too damn calm for being face-to-face with the occult, but then again, she seemed like a weird kid to begin with.

He kept waiting for the voice to chime in with its opinion, but it had been silent since Bucky came through the portal. He frowned. It had promised it would be here, so where was it?

Bucky sighed and turned his attention back to the small chatterbox.

“What’s your name, kid?”

She told him, proudly and without hesitation. Definitely too trustworthy. What would have happened if it was one of those other demons that had gotten through?

He frowned further, troubled as he looked around her room. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but the stink of other demons was still pungent to Bucky’s sensitive nose.

“Did you see anything else come through besides me?” he asked.

The kid finally lost some of her spunk as she looked down at the carpet, gripping her denim overalls tightly in her hands.

“Hey,” Bucky said, voice softer. “You’re not in trouble.”

It was strange, the more he talked to her the less anxious he was. Already he had stopped trembling and shaking, though his senses were still reeling from the influx of earthy smells and loudness of civilization.

She nodded slowly and looked past Bucky. He turned to see what she was looking at now, and this time it was her open window. They were on the second story, and it was dark outside.

“Lot of things, but they ran away. They weren’t like you.” She swallowed and gripped her clothes tighter. “They were scary.”

So, she wasn’t as unaffected as Bucky thought. Her voice was unsteady, and the smell of fear was unmistakable. Kids weren’t supposed to see things like this. Like Bucky. She seemed fine now, but what about when she tried to sleep tonight? What about years from now when people told her she was crazy and she couldn’t trust her own memories?

Didn’t seem right. Not for a kid, and especially not one that had saved his life. Bucky didn’t know how she’d done it, but he was proof positive that magic, or something like it, was real.

Bucky turned back to look at her, sadness weighing heavily on him like a physical thing. He didn’t want her to be afraid, or worse, harmed by what had happened. Would the demons come back to this place or would they prey on other unsuspecting targets? Either way, he swore he would hunt them down. It was a small price to pay to come back to life.

But first, there was the matter of the girl. He couldn’t leave her like this, with such dangerous knowledge in her head.

As Bucky moved to give her back the plate, something deep and instinctual within him rose to the surface. The girl extended her hand and he dropped the plate, grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open, but Bucky’s other hand cradled her cheek as he pressed his thumb directly between her brows.

A jolt went up his arm and through his hand, straight down his thumb and into her thoughts, her _memories_. Surprise mixed with horror when he sensed the memories she had just created, of him and the demons and the portal, were obliterated from her mind. Just as the Chair had done to him.

Bucky released her, shocked by what he’d just done, and then was forced to rush forward as the girl started to collapse. Fearing the worst, Bucky felt along her head and neck, but she was breathing, slowly and deeply as if she’d just fallen asleep. Her face was smooth and untroubled, too innocent for what she’d experienced.

Holding her carefully, Bucky carried her and laid her down on the bed. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the covers over her, hoping if her family came in and found her they would think she was simply asleep. She_ was_ asleep, Bucky was coming to realize. Whatever power he’d wielded had done this, and perhaps it was a small mercy she wasn’t conscious for it, but it still made him sick down to his bones.

When she woke up, she wouldn’t remember any of it, including Bucky. Perhaps… that was for the best.

With one last lingering look, Bucky strode across the room to the open window. Under the cover of darkness, he leapt from the ledge and opened his wings, catching the air and flapping as hard as he could to gain altitude.

It wasn’t until he was high in the air with the lights glittering below him that he realized his claws were still wrapped around the stuffed cat. He’d have to return it at some point, but for now, he had other, more pressing problems.

One, Bucky was starving. He was so hungry he could barely think, as if all his years of being dormant were catching up to him. The pain of it was consuming, racking his body and making him shudder midair.

And two… he had yet to hear the voice again. It filled him with emptiness, his pleas going unanswered, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Maybe he’d gone crazy in that place. Most men would have. He was just disappointed to have been proven right, and the voice hadn’t been real after all.

He couldn’t think about any of that right how. First things first: Bucky had to feed.


	30. Bedeviled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is starving and has to feed. What comes next is inevitable, considering his pattern of luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short chapter, but it is pretty intense and I wanted to separate it from the next one.
> 
> We're almost out of the past/memories, so just hang tight. Your questions will be (mostly) answered ;)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Bucky has to feed multiple times against his will and against the will of the men he's feeding on. Graphic dubcon/noncon, though it is brief.

He banked toward the distant cluster of skyscrapers. Bucky didn’t know where he was, or even what year, but he knew a downtown when he spotted one. HYDRA had trained him for infiltration and espionage, and he’d often been sent to foreign cities on sanctioned missions.

Bucky knew how to move unnoticed through a crowd, but that option was unavailable to him at the moment. He was too hungry and his guise wouldn’t hold. He’d have to look for food in the same way he’d done during the war when he was trying to hide his shameful appetites from his friends and fellow soldiers.

It turned out, wherever there were humans there were shady bars and back-alley quickies. Bucky could smell it on the air as he flew low, and he followed it like a blood hound, nearly silent as the chilly night air rushed over his wings.

Landing on the rooftop of a squat building and looking over the edge, he found what he was searching for. Two men, one with a glowing cigarette between his lips and the other on his knees, bobbing his head with a cock in his mouth.

Bucky barely had the wherewithal to leave the stuffed cat tucked away on the roof. He couldn’t just toss the thing away, but he also didn’t want it with him when he…

It happened quickly, aided by the shadows, Bucky’s speed, and his pheromones going into full affect. The two men were already half-dazed by the time he reached them, addled by the aphrodisiac that wafted off his skin during arousal. He shoved the one on his knees aside, taking his place, the shame and horror flooding him not enough to make him stop.

_“What the fuck is that!”_

They were terrified, but not enough to run away. The pheromones were too powerful for that. The hands that had been trying to push Bucky away were now wrapped around his horns, and the man he’d pushed aside was unbuckling his belt. Bucky helped, looping his tail around his waist and drawing him closer, moaning around the velvety cock on his tongue.

When the second man lifted his tail and shoved into him, indelicately and careless, Bucky nearly screamed. It was agonizing, and he needed more, needed to make this quick because he was _starving—_

None of them lasted long, and Bucky didn’t let either of them pull out. Hot semen coated his tongue and filled his ass, and it wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough. It would have to do, because both men were barely conscious, sinking to the ground, drained. They’d recover in a few hours, but their memories would ruin them forever.

Bucky replaced what was left of his pants and realized his face was wet. His gut roiled and he wanted to be sick, but he didn’t dare throw up. He couldn’t stop looking at the two men, innocent victims that he’d assaulted.

_“God…”_ one of them croaked, trying to turn his head away. He had straight blond hair, his skin as pale as a ghost. He reminded Bucky too much of Steve.

The other man wasn’t much better off. He had curly brunette hair and a darker complexion, but even he seemed bloodless and frail.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky gasped in a sob. “I’m so sorry…”

He wished he could take it all back. He’d rather be in the demon realm than here, hurting innocents. HYDRA hadn’t even forced him to do it this time. This had been all him, and he had no one else to blame.

There was only one thing left to do. It wouldn’t make up for what Bucky had done, but it was the only damage control he had available to him. He reached out to the blond man even as he flinched away. He placed a hand on his face, pressed his thumb between his eyes, and activated the same instinct he’d used on the girl.

The man’s eyes rolled into his head, falling unconscious as Bucky extracted the memories from his mind. That was the only way he could describe it, like sucking venom from a wound. The man laid on the dirty asphalt, breathing deeply as if in an untroubled sleep.

“What… what did you do to him?” the other man whimpered. “No, no, _stay away! Don’t touch me!”_

Bucky grabbed him before he could crawl far and repeated the ability, putting him into a deep sleep before taking away the horrific, traumatic memories.

Bucky stared down at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. They didn’t feel like it. Besides the guise, he couldn’t do anything magical or arcane. He didn’t know if it was from being in the demon realm for so long, exposed to the energies there, or if it was what HYDRA had done to him. Destroying his memories and making him forget all the evil acts he’d committed on their orders.

Bucky didn’t wait to question it. He’d fed, but he was still starving, and it would take a lot more than two feedings to sate him.

Returning to the rooftop and carefully holding the tabby cat against his chest, Bucky took off, vanishing in the night to search for his next meal.

He found it. And the next night, another meal. It continued like this for three nights, while during the day, he hid in the shadows in dilapidated, abandoned buildings. In that time, he remained in his true form, unable to hold his guise until the third night. It was like an atrophied muscle, unused for so long when it hadn’t been needed.

So when he was finally able to pass for human, or close enough when he found a large pair of rain boots to shove his claw feet into, he went to a local bar and hook-up spot. By that time, he’d found some clothes, ill-fitting but relatively clean. It didn’t matter what he looked like, as soon as he stepped into the bar, his pheromones did the trick, and someone was on his arm leading him toward the back door before he even had time to scope out the place.

This man was smaller, moved strangely like a dancer, and certainly not shy as he led Bucky past dirty dumpsters and piles of trash. Normally his targets weren’t so bold, but maybe he wanted to have a quick fuck before returning to his friends. Worked for Bucky.

It wasn’t until the man dragged him around the corner that unease prickled the back of Bucky’s neck. Something wasn’t right. Even a man confident in his abilities to defend himself wouldn’t go this far from the lights of the bar.

“Hey,” Bucky said. “Here’s fine. We don’t have to—“

Bucky smacked face-first into something invisible, hitting it so hard he bounced off it and fell backwards, sprawling on his ass. The snarl died in his throat as he saw the glowing orange runes underneath his body.

“What the _hell?”_

The man stood over him, his smile vanished and replaced by a serious frown. Bucky rose to his feet, heart hammering as more figures moved toward him from their hiding places in the shadows. Unlike the man who’d lured him out, they all wore robes that obscured their faces.

Bucky dropped into a crouch and dropped his guise, tail lashing as his wings arched over his head. He bared his teeth and growled low in his throat, glaring at the circle of figures with pure animal rage.

Only one organization knew about Bucky. And only one organization knew how to trap a demon.

HYDRA had found him.


	31. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories come to an end.

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual_ title,_ gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a _human_ again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something_ did_ happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to_ be_ any more changes, but now I have to lug _these_ things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

* * *

_“This isn’t working.”_

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

_“I can’t do it.”_

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

_Horror, hope, terror,_ all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—_Please,_ you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something _simple?_ “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to _see _you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a _what?”_

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you _must _be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—_Wait!”_

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter I had to go rewatch Doctor Strange and I can't tell you how sad I am that it's not canon the Ancient One adopted Bucky and he's now in an awkward family situation with Strange and Wong.


	32. Reverberate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken from the time-loop, you and Bucky discuss next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the people who guessed time-loop shenanigans were involved, nice job. Short chapter today, next chapter will be longer with a surprise.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mild anxiety attacks and dissociation

“You…”

If you were sweating like a marathon runner, then Bucky was panting like a winded horse that had been galloping too long for too fast.

“What… did you see?” He was perched on the edge of the bed, tail thumping against the covers in agitation.

You sat further upright, trying to catch your breath. You confirmed that, yes, you were back in your own room, in your own body. It was nighttime, cold, and the house was quiet because everyone else had gone to bed. The solid softness under your hands grounded you, confirmed that this was real and you were back where you were supposed to be.

You could barely process his question.

“I… I don’t know—“

Bucky gripped you by the shoulders and leaned over you, expression a mixture of fear and panic.

“What did you see? Tell me!”

_“Everything!”_

You winced and lowered your voice, not wanting to wake anyone, trembling violently in his hands.

“I saw everything.”

Bucky deflated, releasing you with horrific guilt written all over his face as he backed away from the bed.

“And…” You looked up at him, dazed, gripping the bedspread like a lifeline. “And I… didn’t just see. I was… _with_ you…”

“No…”

“…in that place. The demon realm—“

“No, no, _no, no_.” Bucky stumbled back, his tail whipping around as he gripped the sides of his head. “That wasn’t you. That _wasn’t you._ It _can’t_ be.”

“Bucky, please, look at me,” you quietly begged. But he wouldn’t. He shook his head, paced your room like a caged animal, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“It’s my fault. _My fault._ This wasn’t supposed to happen, something went wrong. Oh, God, what did I do? _What did I do to you?”_

He was spiraling and there was nothing you could do to stop it. As soon as you stood from the bed, Bucky flinched away, staring at you in naked terror.

_“I can’t…”_

He choked out the words, turned to your windowsill, and flung it open. The same windowsill he’d fled from twenty years ago. Wings ripped from his shoulder blades, shredding the back of his shirt, and he leapt through, disappearing into the darkness with a rush of air washing over you.

You stared at the open window for a long time. Long enough that the room had gotten cold enough to see your breath. And still you stood there, frozen, your mind a blank space as your body felt strange and far away.

Something warm and alive rubbed against your leg, a concerned meow bringing you back to the present. You shook off your daze and quickly shut the window, drawing the curtains back over the dark glass.

Picking up Monster, you returned to the bed and crawled under the covers, holding him tight as you shivered violently.

You waited for Bucky to return, watching the digital read-out of the old clock as it crept past midnight. The exhaustion of parsing through all the memories, of feeling as if you’d lived several lives over the span of just a few minutes, and then for Bucky to just take off… You were torn between fatigue and depression that felt more akin to grief.

As the clock ticked past two in the morning, you wondered if Bucky would be coming back. Maybe this was the thing that broke him. You couldn’t even blame him.

Burying your face in Monster’s fur, which may have grown damp against your cheeks, you let the exhaustion overtake you, pulling you into merciful darkness.

Except it wasn’t merciful. Confusing images swirled past you. Freezing bunkers, a red, dead world, a pretty rooftop garden with a kind, bald woman. She reached out to you, and you tried to grab her hand but you slipped backwards, out of reach.

Down, down you fell, through the freezing air, until you crashed into the snow, left broken and bleeding red against the white.

You awoke with a start, heart leaping in your throat. The room was cold again, and your back ached from the aftereffects of the horrifically realistic dream.

The noise that woke you repeated itself: Monster was hissing into the dark.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” a low voice responded. “Don’t have to tell me. Move over.”

Monster spit his annoyance, but he wiggled out of your arms and jumped off the bed, vanishing out of sight in that way he had of doing.

“Bucky?” Your whisper had barely any strength to it.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m… I’m here. Can I… come to bed with you?”

You pulled back the covers without hesitation, shifting back to give him room. The room was dark but you could still see him slip under the blankets as the mattress jostled from the additional weight.

Your fingers brushed against his arm and you almost drew back.

“You’re _freezing.”_

Bucky released a snort, settling down into the bed as he rested his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’ll live. My own damn fault, anyway. I shouldn’t have left.” He found your hands under the covers and squeezed them gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Despite how cold he was all over, you pressed right up to him, tucking your head under his chin as you hugged his arms against your chest, seeking comfort while simultaneously trying to warm him up. That was something you couldn’t forget from the memories. Bucky hated the cold.

“I forgive you.” You rested your chin on your favorite spot, his collarbone. “So long as you forgive me for what happened tonight. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

_“What?_ Why would you even say that? Of_ course_ it was my fault!”

Your shoulders hunched inward. How much could you tell him? You didn’t want Bucky to take the blame, but you weren’t sure if what the Ancient One had told you had been just for you and Strange.

Plus, Bucky had a complicated relationship with the sorcerers, and he already got weirded out by magic… Perhaps it would be better to wait to tell him the full truth when you actually knew what that was.

“Well…” You scooted a little closer. Even now you were craving contact, wanting to touch him even if it was selfish. After not having a body for so long, it was nearly a physical need. “Weird stuff keeps happening to me, right? The portal. The demons coming after me. Having a hobgoblin for a pet. That’s… that’s probably got something to do with me, at the very least.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. You waited, barely breathing, having no idea which way he would go. Continue to blame himself for everything, or allow someone else to shoulder the burden for once?

“I think we should talk to Strange,” he finally said.

You nearly melted with relief. _This was good._ Maybe you could talk to Strange and not involve Bucky at all with the weird time-loop, memory, magic stuff. At least Bucky could stop blaming himself for things he wasn’t responsible for.

Maybe Strange had been wrong about you being the magic equivalent of a dead battery. As much as you tried not to think about it, you knew something wasn’t normal if you were attracting demons left and right. What happened tonight just confirmed that something more was going on.

You just wished the Ancient One had been more clear about what she meant by training, not to mention that ominous bit of advice at the end. You were supposed to make a choice that would affect both of your lives? What the _fuck? _You were really beginning to understand Bucky’s frustration the wizards.

Hopefully, you could go to Strange for help _without _him finding out about the bond. It was a complicated balancing act you would somehow have to manage.

“I agree,” you said. “Your wizards are equipped to deal with this stuff, aren’t they?”

Bucky chuckled. He’d only been gone a few hours and you’d already missed that sound.

“They’re not _my _wizards, but yes.”

He made a low, comforting sound, almost like a purr, as he pulled you against his chest and petted your hair. Your eyelids drifted shut of their own accord, and you would have purred yourself if you could.

“Either way, I won’t run away again. I promise.”

Listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady against your ear pressed to his chest, you prayed it was a promise Bucky could keep. After the confusing but undeniable lifetime you’d spent together, you couldn’t imagine a life without him. You wanted to talk to him about everything you’d experienced in that place, but you were too tired, and Bucky’s breathing had already slowed to a steady rhythm. Tonight had taken a lot out of him, out of you both. The least you could do was get some rest.

But rest didn’t find you so easily. No matter how much you tried to push it out, the image of the dried-up corpse plagued your thoughts, and you eventually drifted into a restless sleep, dreaming it had your face. Long dead with a pentagram stretched across your shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Broken from the time-loop, you and Bucky discuss next steps."*
> 
> *after that mfer jumps out a window and needs to go zen on a rooftop somewhere and then comes back for apology-snuggles
> 
> But seriously, I will say it as many times as I need to in the third act of this story: Bucky and reader get a happy ending. All of this anxiety will have a purpose. And I'm not torturing you for nothing.


	33. Clandestine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky reconnect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE SMUT!

Morning came too quickly, and you were left as drained as a zombie. There was no time to sleep in, not with you and Bucky driving back to the city before noon. And then, hopefully, you could slip in a nap before having to deal with the sorcerers.

Toweling off your hair with one hand and holding up a second towel around your chest with the other, you walked to your old bedroom without thinking. Too tired to pay attention until you bumped right into Bucky and he grasped your bare shoulders so you wouldn’t stumble.

When he didn’t immediately release you, you met his gaze and swallowed. There was something dark and unbridled in his eyes as they roamed over your bare skin, hungrily searching. Or maybe devouring. That’s what it looked like, the fierce look of something starving.

You knew he couldn’t be. It had only been two days, and your mark wasn’t stinging or burning. And there was something else in his face, a hesitancy that clashed with the tension in his jaw.

He was holding back. Afraid to touch you? To push it further?

“Bucky…”

His name had meant to be a question, but it came out as a strangled whimper. And just like that, his control snapped.

He pushed you against the bedroom door, your back a soft_ thud_ against the wood as he gripped your hair in his fingers and crushed his lips against yours. He was demanding, tongue prying you open as his other hand ripped away your towel.

You gave a muffled noise when he lifted you by the back of the thighs and pulled your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss as he pinned you between the unyielding hardness of his body and the door.

You wound your arms around his neck, holding on tightly, grinding your hips against his stomach, moaning as you desperately sought for friction. Bucky unbuckled his belt and zipped down his pants, breathing hard as he freed his cock and rubbed it against your folds. You were already soaked, heat flashing in your gut as the soft ridges of his cock dragged across your entrance.

You were almost dizzy from the need to be closer, as if you were starving or dying of thirst. It wasn’t the bond but it was a similar feeling, a desperation as if you hadn’t seen each other in decades. In a way, you hadn’t.

_“Bucky,”_ you choked, tilting your head back as he nudged his nose against your throat.

“I know,” he responded, strained. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

You had a moment of vivid déjà vu, a flash of an event very close to this one. Trapped against a door in your boss’ house, legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, suffering from lust that didn’t belong to you. This time was so much different. Instead of turning away from your affection, Bucky licked and kissed your skin as he slowly rolled his hips against yours.

If he kept it up, you were going to come from the friction alone. Perhaps that was Bucky’s goal because he didn’t stop or let up, even when your whining grew louder. He didn’t cover your mouth with a hand this time; Bucky captured your lips, swallowing your cry as the pressure snapped in your gut and you saw nothing but white.

You came down from your high gasping against his stubbled cheek, shuddering from the lingering throbs as you clenched around nothing. Bucky had made you come without penetration. He hadn’t fed. He’d made you orgasm just to… to make you feel good…

The implication hit you hard. This wasn’t about the bond for him, either.

Bucky softly spoke your name and you raised your head, your breathing uneven as your eyes burned.

“Did I hurt you?” His question was rushed. Panicked.

“No, Bucky.” You curled tighter around him. “Not at all. Please, keep going.”

“We… we don’t have to. This doesn’t always have to be about me having to feed.”

“What if I want you to?”

He sucked in a breath, entire body rigid with tension. You didn’t know if it was the right thing to say, with his complicated, dark history of the feedings and how much he loathed himself. But it was the truth.

“I want you to feed from me.”

Bucky gave a strained groan and ground his hips against you, the sound muffled by your hair. Impatient, you gripped his shoulders tighter and raised yourself up, just high enough to rub your entrance against the tapered tip of his cock.

Like a dam breaking, Bucky’s hesitation was swept away; he grabbed your hips and pulled you down, thrusting at the same moment and spearing you on his cock.

Your cry was loud and sharp, and there was a growl in his throat as he thrust so hard the door shook. He pulled you away before he broke it and turned toward the bed, but you never made it that far. He brought you down to the ground, lying on the carpet as he fucked you so hard you cried with each thrust.

Stars burst behind your eyelids as you curled your back, scratching your nails down the armored skin on his back. It opened as his wings shot out, arching over you like a giant bat.

Maybe that should have been terrifying but you had long learned to love that part of him, and you were overwhelmed by the jolts of heat going up your spine. Each drag of Bucky’s cock brought you higher, the tightness between your legs so intense you were afraid you’d snap in half.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, every muscle of your body tensed, and still Bucky was relentless. His hips snapped, letting out low growls from his chest, fingers tangled in your hair.

And then Bucky bit down on your shoulder, just a few inches from the mark.

Your vision whited out a second time and you heard nothing but static in your ears, aware of nothing but the agonizing pleasure as you squeezed around his cock. You felt the drag of your energy being drained out of your body, and a deep, distant heat as Bucky gave one last snap and spilled inside you.

Bucky was panting, his movements slow and sluggish as he released you from his teeth and began to lap at the wound with his long tongue.

_“S…shit,”_ he rasped between surprisingly gentle licks. “Didn’t… mean to. I’m sorry.”

“Mmm don’t be.” Your voice was punch-drunk to your own ears. “That was… amazing. Fucking… holy shit.”

Bucky chuckled, sounding more like a purr.

“Potty mouth.” Another lick, this one closer to your neck. “Would call a call like you a ‘dirty damsel’ back in the day.”

“That’s really sexy. Do you think you would have liked me? Back then?”

You hadn’t meant to ask a question so loaded, not when you were both lying on your childhood bedroom floor, naked and covered with bodily secretions.

Bucky leaned up onto his elbow, distributing his weight so he wasn’t crushing you as he settled between your legs. Still deep inside you.

Your face heated like the sun when you gave a small whimper. Bucky’s smile widened enough to show teeth, and the heat spread into a flush all over your body.

“Oh, I would have liked you, all right. But in those days, I was a boy. Didn’t take women seriously. I just wanted to have fun, take ‘em dancing and kiss ‘em later. It wasn’t much deeper than that. I’m glad you didn’t know me when I was that much of a fool.”

“Because I would have kicked your ass?”

“Full-stop. You would have been too much woman for me.” Bucky’s gaze darkened and your heart squeezed in tandem. “And now… I think…”

He kissed the tip of your nose, grim expression still in full effect.

“…it’s time for another shower.”

Bucky broke into a playful grin, and like the pure bastard he was, pulled out of you with one fluid motion.

And fluid was correct, because quite a lot of it spilled out of you. You groaned into your hands, horrified at the prospect of having demon cum-stains in the carpet.

“Come on, groany,” he chuckled. “Get your towel back on.”

Bucky picked you up and set you on your feet, watching you with an amused smirk as you fumbled with the damp towel he handed you. All he had to do was zip his pants back up, but you had to do the ow-I-just-had-demon-dick-in-me walk to the bathroom.

_“Bucky!”_ you hissed when he bullied you out of the room, not even trying to be subtle as he gripped you around the waist.

“Don’t worry,” he rumbled into your ear. “No one’s been home for the past hour.”

“You could have told me!”

“I kinda like it when you try to be quiet. Like it when you fail, too.”

“Well… I…”

Bucky closed the bathroom door behind him, turned to you, and lifted his shirt off. It was unfair how he could just take off one piece of clothing and make you stupid.

“Well?” He smiled lazily as he pulled off the pants he hadn’t bothered to buckle, stripping off his underwear next. You stared like the pervert you apparently were. “It’ll be faster with the both of us, right?”

Bucky pulled off your towel and pulled you into the shower next. And just like that, everything was back to how it should be. There was still so much to discuss and process, so much that would linger for a long time to come. But no matter what you’d been through, you were still the same two people and nothing had fundamentally changed between you.

At least… that was the hope.


	34. Justified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky head back to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A chapter that isn't super short? Say it ain't so.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Brief explicit sex, angst, mild anxiety attacks, fluff, dirty jokes

The shower was not, in fact, faster with the two of you in it.

It started off fine enough, with Bucky helping wash off the drying cum between your legs. Somehow, it escalated with you pressed chest first against the wall, moaning without shame against the tile. Bucky rubbed the tip of his cock between your folds, teasing you, making you beg for it until he pushed forward and slid all the way inside.

Bucky didn’t seem to have any kind of refractory period, and you didn’t either, so he fucked you right there against the wall. Your fingers were flat against the tile, his fingers intertwining with yours as he ground against you, the spray of water making everything wet and slippery and so much more obscene.

It didn’t last much longer than that. As soon as Bucky had one hand delved between your legs, padded finger carefully rubbing against your clit as the other gently cradled your throat, it was over. You came with a cry, knees buckling as your legs went weak. You would have fallen if Bucky hadn’t held you up, giving a strained groan as he spilled into you again.

This time, when he cleaned you, there was no danger of a fourth round. You could barely hold yourself up, leaning against Bucky for support as you floated on a blissful wave of tingly euphoria.

Bucky wasn’t nearly as content. He had that tight frown he wore when he was unhappy, usually at himself, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “Just… tired.”

“Because I drained you dry.”

“I’m anything but dry,” you said, giving the biggest shit-eating grin you could muster.

He sighed, gently scrubbing down the front of your thighs. You shivered appreciatively at the lovely attention.

“I got careless,” he muttered. “Should have stopped after the first time.”

“I’ll just nap on the way back.” You yawned involuntarily. Shit, maybe he had drained you a little too much. Oops. “You were gonna drive anyway, right? Just give me some carbs and I’ll be good as new.”

Bucky grunted but didn’t argue further, ending the argument with a kiss on top of your head. You could get used to resolving arguments this way.

After finishing cleaning up and toweling dry (or rather, Bucky toweled you dry while you hummed drunkenly against his chest), you headed downstairs for a quick breakfast. As suspected, you felt much better after scarfing down a bagel, a bowl of oatmeal, and a plate of pancakes and fruit. If being hungry and tired after sex was the biggest price you had to pay to have Bucky, you were more than willing.

Of course, it _wasn’t_ the biggest price you had to pay, but you didn’t want to think about that whole situation. Being reminded of the fact that if you didn’t have sex with Bucky you’d die a terrible, painful death could really put a damper on your mood. It was a problem for another day, not for right now, when you had to focus on your last meal with the family and pretend you hadn’t just had your brains screwed out by a hot-ass demon.

Before you knew it, you were packed up and out the door, Monster’s carrier cradled in your arms as Bucky got the bags. Your aunt and uncle hugged you both, followed by you mom, squeezing you tightly before letting you go.

“Be safe on the drive. Text me when you get back. I’ll try calling you more, I miss talking to you, sweetie.”

“Me too, Mom,” you said, the guilt hurdling through your body like a ricocheting bullet. She had no idea the kind of danger and trauma you’d been through, and no matter what, you could never tell her. The least you could do was try to be better and contact her more often.

With a warm smile, your mom wrapped her arms around Bucky’s shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze.

“You take care now, Jacob. We loved having you over, so don’t be a stranger.”

“Thank you for having me, ma’am,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile once they pulled apart. “It was a pleasure.”

You mom shot you a knowing smile after Bucky turned around, and you had to fight to not bury your face in your hands. At least she hadn’t said something like ‘oh no, the pleasure’s all my daughter’s.’

Ugh. Family.

You loved coming back home again, but you were also ready to get back to the city. Back to your own place where you could have a bit more privacy. It also meant you had to think about what came next.

The dilemma seemed to weigh heavily on Bucky’s mind as well; after he pulled the car away from the icy curb, he was quiet, but the tension in his jaw spoke volumes. After you were out of the Boston suburbs and on the highway, slower than the speed limit to account for the icy roads, Bucky said, “You can take a nap if you want.”

“I’m okay for now. If you don’t mind the company, that is.”

“I always love having you around.”

And just like that, your face was on fire.

_“Bucky.”_

“And you’re so cute when you’re flustered, too.”

When you glanced over, sure enough, he was grinning with those perfect white teeth full on display. You wished you had a hoodie to hide in but you’d opted to wear a sweater instead, so you buried your face in your hands.

“You can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“What? That I like spending time with you?” He huffed. “Anyone’s who’s too embarrassed to tell you that stuff doesn’t deserve you.”

Now you were burying your face in your hands_ and_ slinking down in the seat.

“Aww c’mon. Is it that bad? Being complimented?”

“I’m just… not used to it, that’s all.”

There was a sudden warm weight on top of your head, fingers moved through your hair, and you instantly melted. Being petted by a demon probably shouldn’t have been so relaxing, but you leaned into his touch and lowered your hands into your lap.

“You really like that?” he asked with a tinge of amusement.

You made a _mmhmm_ sound and closed your eyes, warm and safe. You didn’t want this trip to end, not knowing what came next, but maybe things would be all right.

Maybe because you felt so cozy and content you lost a bit of your filter. Or maybe Bucky’s fingers on your scalp coupled with the lack of sleep made you more open. For whatever reason, you broached the subject you’d both been avoiding since last night.

“It wasn’t that bad, you know,” you mumbled. “Being in that place with you.”

His hand stopped moving. No, you didn’t like that, _keep petting me, damn it._ But he didn’t, and when he pulled away entirely you nearly whined. It pulled you out of your stupor at least, and Bucky’s tense expression as he stared out the windshield made you regret saying anything at all.

But you had, and it was too late to take it back, so you pressed on.

“Really, it… it felt like a lifetime when I was there, but now it’s just like… a dream. Or fuzzy, like childhood memories. I don’t know how to explain it.”

The only sound between you were tires on the icy road, the hum of the heater, and the windshield wipers thumping back and forth at a regular rhythm.

“You had it worse,” you blurted. Oh, why had you brought it up? You should have at least waited until you got back to the city, not when you were trapped in a car together. “You had to actually live all that stuff.”

“You lived it too.” He was almost too quiet to hear. “You did.”

That was all he said, at least for so long you thought the conversation was officially over. You stared out the passenger window, watching the flakes pound against the glass, when Bucky asked:

“What was it like? Being inside someone’s head?”

Even though his tone was carefully blank, it was a curious question, and you were happy to answer it if it got him talking.

“Kind of… weird? But I got used to it pretty fast. Sometimes I could zone out and not really pay attention to what you were doing. So I could… you know, give you privacy.” Your face grew warmer and you didn’t dare look at him. “And other times, I could be very present and felt what you were feeling. It really wasn’t that bad. Especially when… uh…when I kept you warm, and stuff.”

Yep, your face was on fire again, but it made it all worth it when he gave an amused snort.

“I never did thank you for that. I’m pretty sure I would have froze to death otherwise. And I didn’t even know who you were, or what you were, and I wanted to…”

_Wanted to what?_

He never said, because the conversation truly died there, and you didn’t have the heart to revive it. Not with the mournful look on his face as he drove.

You propped your arm up on the window and made a pillow out of it, hoping if you took a nap you might be more clear-headed, and if not that, at least you could leave Bucky alone with his thoughts. Worried you’d pushed him too far and too fast, you didn’t think you’d fall asleep, but the thrum of the car engine lulled you into a doze. When next you opened your eyes, the car was stopped, pulled up to a pump at a gas station. The car was still on, the heater keeping the car comfortably warm, but Bucky was nowhere in sight.

Panic shot through you like a thunderbolt, and you shoved open the door, holding on to it as you frantically searched the parking lot. There were people around so you didn’t start yelling for Bucky like a crazy person, but your heart was beating against your ribcage like a trapped animal.

Where could Bucky have gone? Did someone capture him? You didn’t believe he would have left on his own, no way, not after… not after everything that had happened the past few days.

_He wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t—_

“Sweetheart?”

You spun around so hard you nearly lost your footing, but you grabbed the roof of the car and regained your balance. Bucky still gripped you by the shoulder, concern creasing his brows.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I just saw you were gone and got worried, that’s all.” And now you also felt like the world’s biggest idiot, or at least the world’s clingiest person.

Bucky released his breath and dropped his hand.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

_“I_ scared you?” You were pretty sure your heart was still beating a mile a minute, and you were definitely still out of breath. “What do you mean_ I _scared you?”

“I was inside paying for gas, and next thing I feel is your terror—I thought someone had attacked you.”

“That’s what I thought had happened to you!”

Bucky sighed and pushed the hair back from his face with a gloved hand, and then gave you an exasperated but fond look.

“You think we’re being a little co-dependent?” you asked, sheepish.

“Sweetheart.” His unfairly sexy mouth quirked as he rolled his eyes. “We’re literally bound by demon magic.”

“Oh. Yeah, good point.”

He kissed you on the top of your head and instantly the tension leeched from your body. Bucky really could play your body like an instrument, couldn’t he.

“Well, now that you’re back,” you said with a wince, “I gotta go pee. And maybe pick up some snacks, I’m still really hungry.”

“That’ll be from the, uh… multiple feedings.” His smile vanished, replaced by concern. “Do you want me to—I should come with you?”

“I think only one of us should be subjected to the horrors of gas station restrooms. Plus, someone needs to stay and watch the child.”

Bucky blinked in confusion and then grimaced. You shook your finger at him.

“Monster is _baby,_ and you keep an eye on him. I’ll be right back,” you added when he switched back into worry-mode. “If I’m in danger, sounds like you’ll know it, yes?”

Bucky grumbled an affirmative, and you turned away. Paused. Turned back around and walked up to him. His eyes widened as you planted a kiss on his cheek, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t intensely pleased with yourself for his reaction.

After you braved the disgusting bathroom and picked up a couple snacks demanded by your rumbling stomach, you paused in front of a humming machine. You stared at the swirling glass in front of you, lost in the memory of a red-washed dune.

You snapped out of it, set down your snacks, and grabbed two huge plastic cups to fill.

By the time you returned outside, the car was fueled and Bucky was leaning against the side with his arms crossed over his chest. To an outsider he would appear calm, but tightness of his shoulders and the fraught lines of his face told you a different story.

Bucky took the overfilling snacks from your arms to your gratitude. He raised an eyebrow at the sheer volume of them, and you shrugged.

“I was hungry. You’re welcome to my snacks, too. Oh, and… I got this for you.”

You held out one of the Big Gulps. The plastic was a solid blue and red, so Bucky couldn’t see what was inside until he looked down the transparent domed lid.

He stared at it. And stared. It was cold enough to snow, and you were sweating.

“I know it’s not… not blueberry-flavored. They don’t really do that anymore, use real ingredients for this kind of junk. But it is blue, and it’s an Icee, so I figured…” Your voice trailed off. Bucky continued to stare.

And then his eyes started to water.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, horrified. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I didn’t mean to—“

Bucky pulled you into a tight embrace. Right there, in the gas station, for all to see.

“I’m the one who’s sorry.” One arm across the back of your shoulders and the other around your waist, he squeezed you, holding you tightly to his chest. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t understand why it happened. How you got stuck in the demon realm place with me. I didn’t know it was_ you_. I didn’t… I didn’t know… I should have known, but I didn’t, and I’m so sorry.”

“Bucky…” You melted into his hold, kept warm from the biting temperatures. But it didn’t protect you from your guilt of hiding the truth. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault what had happened. You were responsible, even if it had been an accident, but you were too afraid to tell him what the Ancient One had said. You had no idea how he would react, and you wanted to get back to the city before dropping _that_ bomb on him.

“Please don’t apologize,” you said, muffled by his jacket. “I’m fine. It wasn’t that bad on my end. Like I told you, it was kind of like a dream. It’s already faded a little.”

Which was true. Somewhat. There were a few moments that would stick with you for the rest of your life, like the mummified corpse with the sigil on its shoulder. You had no doubt it was a human enslaved to a demon, but what you didn’t know was how they had ended up on that world. It would be the subject of more nightmares, that was for sure.

Not to mention the whole _watching Bucky die in front of you_ thing, but if you thought about that for even a moment you’d probably have a nervous breakdown. The only thing that kept it at bay was the constant reminder that Bucky was alive and well.

All in all, you were coping fairly well, and if anything, you were more worried about Bucky. He’d actually been there physically while you’d only experienced the time-loop _through_ him.

Or… that was your guess, anyway. Who knew how these things worked? Hopefully, the wizards.

“I’m still sorry you had to go through all of that,” he said, warm breath tickling your hair. “If I’d known that was going to happen, I never would have tried to show you those memories.”

You couldn’t reach your arms around him, protectively holding your Icee so he wouldn’t crush it, so you leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“We’re both here and we’re both okay,” you said, “so that’s what I’m going to focus on.”

Bucky had an odd expression. It was part wistful, sad, and something else. You couldn’t figure out what it was before he gave a defeated smile.

“All right, all right.”

“I’m serious, Barnes.” You prodded his chest playfully. “You’ve seen my family. One demon isn’t going to intimidate me. We’ll figure out what happened with the memories, but you are not allowed to blame yourself. I forbid it.”

The strange, sad look vanished, and Bucky released you with one arm, the other kept around your waist. Your skin tingled at the casual touch. Would you ever get used to this?

Bucky stared down at the slushy in suspicion, then he took a cautious sip of the straw and grimaced.

“Jesus. What’s it with people these days and sugar? You tryin’ to give kids diabetes?”

“Oh, my God,” you groaned, and grabbed your snacks. Bucky wasn’t going to get any if he was going to complain about your junk food choices.

“What? It’s a serious question,” he continued as you both got into the car. “It won’t do anything to me, but what about your poor liver?”

“I’m pretty sure my liver is glowing with vitality after all the demon sex I’ve had.”

It took a beat for him to respond. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“That.” He turned his head very slowly, and peered at you. “Is not how it works.”

You grinned and slouched back in your seat, sticking your straw in your mouth and slurping as obnoxiously as possible. Bucky shook his head before putting the car into gear, the softness of his smile fading too quickly, and the faint sadness you didn’t like returned.


	35. Carnage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're off to see the wizards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the third act of the story where things *really* start happening. Remember that no matter how dark it gets, there will be light at the end, and Bucky and Reader will have the happy ending they deserve.
> 
> Chapter warnings: No specifics given because they would be spoilers, but expect major angst and psychological horror.

The arrival back to your apartment was surprisingly anticlimactic. You put down Monster’s carrier and let him loose as Bucky carefully set down your bags in the bedroom. He asked if you needed help, but you insisted you were fine. You were too nervous now that you were back and needed something to distract you from thoughts of what you were going to say to Strange.

“Why don’t we worry about that in a day or two?” he said while standing awkwardly in your living room. His smile was faint, but you figured it was from the tiring drive. “I need to come up a plan anyway of what exactly we should tell him.”

“Right.” That sounded perfectly reasonable. “You heading home, then?”

“I… probably should.” Now his smile seemed strained. “But I’ll check in how you’re doing later.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine, really.” It might have been silly, but you really didn’t want him to think you were the clingy type. Even if that’s what you kind of were due to magical circumstance. “Probably going to read or veg out in front of the computer. Let me know when you want to go see Strange and I’ll be ready.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

Bucky stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, stiff. You’d noticed the change as soon as you’d entered the city, like he was reverting back to his old self.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay and took a step forward, but Bucky was already retreating toward the front door. And before you knew it, he was gone.

Stinging pricked inside your ribcage. You hadn’t thought anything would change once you came back. You’d really thought the way Bucky had been with you at your house was going to be the new normal. Had you been naïve to think that?

_No,_ you told yourself. Bucky was stressed about facing the wizards, and considering his history, he had every right to be._ You_ were nervous too, and you were going to push it out of your mind and focus on something productive.

You did do some reading and tried to catch up on some shows, but your mind wandered, your nerves on edge. You nearly jerked off the couch when your phone buzzed and you slapped for it on the coffee table. It was a text from Bucky.

_Hey sweetheart. How you feeling?_

Your heart fluttered at the pet name, but then sank into your stomach. Was this what Bucky had meant by checking up on you? You thought he’d stop by in person. Maybe stay for dinner. Couple’s stuff.

You shoved the selfish thought away.

_I’m okay, how are you?_ you texted back, because you were going to be the bigger person and not leave him on read, and then you tossed the phone back onto the coffee table.

When next it buzzed, you glanced at it to see Bucky had answered back that he was fine, and he was going to see Strange tomorrow, and that he wanted to do it first without you.

Your heart sank further and you didn’t respond. Realizing you were being childish, your anxiety making up problems that weren’t there, you got up to take a shower and go to bed. The multiple feedings of the day before were still affecting you, but you found it difficult to fall asleep, missing the warmth next to you so much that it physically hurt.

Could Bucky feel your pain? Or were you too far away for him to feel it? Either way, he didn’t appear on your doorstep.

The next morning you checked your phone and only found a semi-accusatory text from your mom for not letting her know you had arrived safely. Feeling like the shit daughter you were, you called her back and assured her you were alive and not dead on the side of the road somewhere.

After that, you whittled away the time with cleaning your apartment. It’d been a while and you needed it. And then you managed to capture your hobgoblin and attack him with a brush, getting all the loose fur out of his undercoat. Monster acted like a brat and tried to squirm out of your arms the whole time, but you both escaped the procedure unharmed.

You did dishes, laundry, made your bed, and even scrubbed the toilet. You were actually getting into the whole cleaning thing when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Another text from Bucky. You’d lost track of time and it was already five in the afternoon.

_Strange can see us tomorrow 3pm,_ was all it said. You frowned.

_Sounds good,_ you texted back, unable to think of anything better to say. When there was no follow-up text, you allowed yourself a moment of disappointment. Bucky was definitely internally freaking out at having to go see the sorcerers and be at risk for your secret to be exposed. You understood it, but you wished he would be open with you.

You’d known this relationship with Bucky would take work, but… it always came down to the bond. It forced so many constraints on you, made you both live a secret life, and was a constant reminder to Bucky of what he’d accidentally done.

For the first time, you truly resented for the mark on your arm. No, you decided, it wasn’t resentment. It was _loathing._

Once you got to know Strange better, which was a strong possibility if what the Ancient One had said was true, maybe you could ask him for help. If the sorcerers could create a concoction for Bucky to drink that allowed him to no longer feed, why couldn’t they figure out a way to break the bond? There had to be something hidden in those creepy vaults of theirs besides old demonic trophies and talking skin-books.

You tried not to think about the Sanctum, or the sorcerers, or the Ancient One since that night. It filled you with a sort of anxiety that bordered on existential. You should have known those tests in Strange’s office wouldn’t be the end of it. The portal that had appeared when you were a child… the ominous things the book had told you… owning a hobgoblin… the _Alp _and the heigore… Bucky and the bond. It was too much to be strange, paranormal coincidences.

Something was wrong with you. You only hoped Strange could help you _not _open any more portals or fall into any more time-loops, and then maybe, you could break the bond too.

Your day passed uneventful and alone. You tried to be a damn adult about it and not sulk, but you only had a couple days left until New Years, and then, back to work.

_Back to work_. After everything that had happened, how could you manage that? And then there was Davin. You hadn’t bothered to text or call him, and here you were, pouting because Bucky was no longer at your side 24/7 when you couldn’t even bother to make sure your friend was doing okay.

You called Davin that night—he sounded surprised but pleased to hear from you—and after talking to him for a good half hour in which you both made sure the other was done fine, you went to bed feeling marginally better. Things were going to be fine with Bucky. Most likely, he was being distant because he had to focus on what he was going to tell Strange. That’s all it was, and you wouldn’t allow your anxious thoughts to conjure up any other paranoid scenario.

* * *

The next day brought a fresh wave of anxiety and nerves. You were going to have to look the head honcho wizard in the face and very carefully tell him information he needed to know, while hiding life-ruining information he didn’t.

No matter what you tried to do, cleaning, reading, napping, your mind continued to return to Bucky’s memories. The cold bunker and the frowning soldier speaking Russian. The visceral agony of Bucky’s starvation as he scoured New York’s dark streets to feed.

And of course, the red dunes. You wouldn’t forget that nightmare as long as you lived, but as you’d told Bucky, those memories were fading like a dream. Perhaps that was for the best. Being trapped in memories without a body for forty years would drive anyone insane.

At 2 PM, your phone buzzed and your heart leapt in your throat. You expected a text from Bucky saying he was at your apartment, but instead...

_177A Bleecker Street._

That was it. An address. You put it into Google Maps and the app informed you that there was a 177 Bleecker Street, but it was a normal looking apartment building above a shop in Greenwich Village.

_Are you sure this is the right place?_ you texted back.

_Yes. Take a cab. They don’t really do parking._

You stared at your phone, not really sure how to feel, before sending back a text that said, _Okay. See you there._

From your place it would have been much cheaper to take the subway and walk from the stop, but the crowded platforms and packed train compartments sent you into an anxiety attack more often than not. So you pulled up the taxi app, pinged for a driver, and went out to wait by the curb, trying not to stew in your feelings and focus on what you were going to tell Strange.

All you could think about after the cab picked you up was how fucked you were if you said the wrong thing. How fucked you and Bucky were. How were you supposed to be around the wizards and ensure they never discovered the demon sigil or the bond? It was an impossible task, and you wished you could have talked to Bucky about it beforehand.

Why hadn’t he come to you before going to see Strange? Weren’t you supposed to brainstorm and come up with a plan together? You were flying blind over unfamiliar territory, and you were afraid it was only a matter of time before you crashed spectacularly.

A half hour later, you were stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, peering up at the red brick building in front of you. It was as unassuming as the rest of the apartments on the block.

You frowned and took a step forward, and that’s when everything changed. The building shimmered in front of you, and not just that one—each apartment building to the side as well. Not unlike Bucky’s guise, the illusion collapsed in a mirage, and a handsome, ancient building stood in front of you, looking very much like the home of a bunch of wizards.

You cast a conspicuous glance around, but no one else seemed to notice the change, the crowd of people flowing around you without interruption.

Taking a deep breath, you clutched your bag tighter and walked up the steps to the massive front door and knocked.

You expected to wait but the door opened almost immediately, revealing a grand interior. Not seeing anyone, you stepped forward, jumping as the tall door swung shut behind you.

“Uh… hello?” you called out. Your words slightly echoed back, and you clutched your bag tighter in your hands.

“You’re early. Your appointment with Doctor Strange isn’t until 3:14.”

You jumped for the second time. The wizard who addressed you was unfamiliar but dressed in the same elegant yet simple robes Wong wore.

“Oh, um.” You didn’t know what else to say. What kind of appointment time was 3:14?

“You may wait in here.” He gestured towards a sitting room off to the side. It had the same dark paneled walls and wood parquet and green marble flooring. The furniture was cherry wood and red velvet upholstery, and the lighting was warm and comforting. If Strange took too long, they would come back to find you sleeping, without a doubt.

“Thanks,” you said, attempting to smile at the man but he was already gone. Like, not just walking out the door gone, he’d literally popped out of existence. You sighed and sat down on one of the couches, pulling out your phone so you’d have something to do and not fall asleep.

No signal. How does someone not have a cell signal in the middle of New York?

_“Ugh.”_ Nap it was, then.

You lifted one leg up onto the couch, letting your shoe dangle off the edge because you weren’t raised in a barn, and you leaned your head against the couch back. You wondered where Bucky was, not difficult when he was never far from your thoughts, but you couldn’t text him and just had to wait.

Inevitably, surrounded by plush furniture, golden lighting, and a room temperature that was a little too warm for December, your eyelids drifted shut and your bunched muscles loosened.

Bright, fierce agony cut across your chest. You sat up, clutching at your shirt as you struggled to breathe.

The pain slammed into you again and you gave a breathless cry, hunched over and heart beating wildly.

It hurt. It hurt so fucking _bad_. Were you having a heart attack? Were you _dying?_

A third round of torture constricted your chest, and along with the utter certainty that it wasn’t _your_ pain you were experiencing.

_They’re hurting Bucky!_

You sprang from the couch, bag falling off your shoulder and left forgotten as you ran into the foyer. The pain still bloomed in your chest, but you sensed something in your mind. A golden string on fire, connecting you to the source of your distress.

You would find Bucky at the end of it. He was close. He was close and they were _killing him!_

No other thoughts passed through your mind except to get to Bucky. You didn’t hesitate to race up the ancient staircase, turning and twisting down hallways you didn’t know. You continued to climb, to the top of the building, and you knew where you were heading.

You didn’t see anyone, the mansion strangely empty until you burst into the anteroom before Strange’s office. Wong and another wizard stepped forward to block your way.

“You cannot go in there.” Wong put a hand on your shoulder. “Strange is currently in a meeting—“

Rage erupted inside you like a well of poison, and you turned and bit the hand touching you.

The wizards shouted, tried to restrain you, but you were screaming, fighting, clawing to be free.

_Get to Bucky!_ you silently screamed, over and over. _He’s dying!_

Wong managed to get his hand free and was nursing it, the other man conjuring fiery orange ropes, but you were too quick. You head-butted the second wizard and slammed him aside with your shoulder, bolting forward to shove open the doors.

Your mind created a gruesome scenario: you would find Bucky strapped to a table, or maybe a chair, being tortured mercilessly.

Instead, you found Strange and Bucky standing, facing each other. Strange had a hand hovering over Bucky’s shoulder, glowing symbols inches away from the scarred pentagram.

Hands grabbed you from behind, but you had already stopped moving. You blinked rapidly, confusion replacing the rage that had consumed you.

Strange watched you with an unreadable look. Bucky’s expression had fallen.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Strange said, his voice oddly quiet. “But it is as I feared.”

“She bit me,” Wong grumbled from over your shoulder.

“We’re lucky she didn’t do worse,” Strange told him. “One who gets between a demon master and their human slave often suffers severe injuries, or even death.”

You were panting, arms and legs shaking with fatigue now that the startling anger had receded.

What… what was going on?

Your eyes finally found Bucky, standing there unharmed and unrestrained. For all intents and purposes, perfectly fine. The realization hit you hard.

_“You told them?”_ Your words came out hurt. Betrayed. Bucky’s wince confirmed it. “_Why?_ Why would you do that?”

Bucky said nothing, and the air was heavy with an uncomfortable silence until Strange spoke.

“I’ll give you two a moment. Come, Wong. Let me see that hand of yours.”

As Strange walked around you, you followed his gaze and gave Wong an apologetic wince. You would have to properly apologize to him later. You’d never bitten anyone in your life, and yet, you’d acted like a rabid dog.

As if sensing your thoughts, once Strange had closed the doors to his office, Bucky softly said, “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control it.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, so instead you angrily wiped at your stinging eyes and turned away.

“I knew it.” You sniffled. “I knew you were hiding something. Ever since we got back, you’ve been distant—What the _fuck,_ Bucky?”

Now you did look up, the anger making a quick return. God, it felt like your emotions were on a yo-yo.

Bucky didn’t rise to your challenge. If anything, he looked more defeated.

“You were right. About what you said before.” He took a step forward and you took an automatic step back. Hurt flashed across his face, but before you could apologize, he turned away. “You said there must be something more going on with you, and after…after what happened when I showed you my memories, I decided to finally stop being a coward and tell Strange about the bond.”

Bucky paused for a moment, collecting himself as he approached Strange’s desk and pressed his palms against it, leaning against it with his head bowed. He didn’t look at you as you moved closer to him.

“I should have gone to him a long time ago, but I was selfish. Even when I admitted the truth, I was _still _selfish. I assured him we were being careful. That you and I were staying in close contact so there weren’t any more close calls with the bond’s demands to feed. He told me I was a goddamn_ idiot_ and that I was putting you in far more danger than I realized.”

Bucky blew out a heavy breath, voice dropping until it was little more than a rasp.

“He was right. I didn’t realize the power the bond held until he activated the mark. Tricked it into thinking I was dying. He said a slave would always come to their master when in danger. The slave would come to protect their master at all costs.”

“Bucky…” you said softly. “I don’t…”

“What did you feel?” Bucky suddenly asked, looking over his shoulder to meet your eye. There was a haunted look in them, like he hadn’t slept the entire time you’d been back. “When you were out there, trying to get past Wong and Sabin?”

“I…”

“Like you would do anything to get to me, right? That you would do anything to save me?”

You said nothing, folding your arms across your chest and hugging yourself.

“You were willing to do anything for me. Weren’t you.”

You didn’t know what to say. How could you explain to him that you’d been willing to rip your heart out of your own chest if it meant he was safe and alive? That you would die on the spot if it meant protecting him?

But it was much worse than that. You’d also been willing to kill Wong and the other wizard if it meant getting to Bucky. You would have killed Strange, too. You would have dragged a knife into the chest of _anyone_ who got in the way.

You would have gladly killed your own mother. Your sister. Her entire family, even her baby—

You covered your face with your hands in an attempt to block out the intrusive thoughts, and to hide your bone-deep horror.

“Oh, my God. _Oh, my God,” _you choked out. You were two seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack, but Bucky wrapped you in his arms and pulled you to his chest. The comfort of his embrace, the warm roughness of his hand stroking your hair, the way you missed him the last two days…

It was tainted. All of it. Never before had you doubted your own feelings, but now, it was all you could think about. How much of it _was_ you? How much was the bond?

“I feel sick,” you groaned against his shoulder. “Like I’m going to throw up. I don’t think I will, but I want to.”

“I know.” Bucky sounded so tired, so devastatingly sad. Now it hurt in a different way, and you wanted to cry along with getting sick.

“What happens now?” You moved away from his shoulder to look up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, but at least they met yours. “What do we do?”

Instead of answering immediately, Bucky raised his hand and stroked his thumb across your cheekbone. You leaned into his palm, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. This was wrong. Terribly wrong. He was looking at you as if he was trying to… to remember you, memorize you.

Panic gripped your throat tight.

“Bucky?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his tongue over his dry lips. He was nervous. “But… I can take a guess.”

“Bucky.” You gripped his jacket with sudden, terrified strength. His expression saddened.

“I made a deal with the Ancient One when I first came here. The deal was, I would be able to live as a free man, so long as I never hurt an innocent person again.”

_“Bucky—“_

“I broke that promise.”

You shook your head, refusing to believe what he said.

“I broke that oath.”

“You didn’t mean to!”

“It doesn’t matter. The result is the same.” He swallowed and cupped your cheek in his hand. “I didn’t just feed, I bonded you to me. I took away your choices. There’s no possible way I keep my freedom after that. And frankly, I don’t deserve to.”

_“No!”_ You tried to shove him away, but Bucky didn’t let you go, and you didn’t budge an inch. “No, _fuck_ that! You don’t get to just give up after—after all of that! Everything we’ve been through!”

Bucky met your anger with sorrowful calm. You wanted to lash out even worse.

“So, what, you’re just going to let them kill you?” you growled. “Banish you back to that fucking nightmare?”

“I don’t know what Strange is going to do,” Bucky said softly. “But he will do whatever is necessary to break the bond so you can be free.”

Your angry grip on his jacket immediately weakened, the strength slowly drained out of you.

“And what about you?” You fought to control the trembling of your hands. “You’re a victim too. Why are you being punished? Why won’t they _help_ you?”

“I’m sure Strange will try, but you are the priority.”

_“Why?”_

“Because you’re in more danger than I am,” he insisted. “Your life force is more compromised, which, I don’t know what that means but it didn’t sound good when Strange said it.”

“I don’t _care_.” You glared up at him. “I don’t care.”

“And that’s the problem.” He returned your hostile look with one of careful calm.

You hated it. Why wouldn’t he get mad? Why didn’t he get angry at the injustice that had been done to him? When would he stop being so _fucking selfless _and think of himself for once?

But that wasn’t who Bucky was. Your shoulders slumped forward at the realization that you’d already lost.

“How much does he know?” You stepped out of Bucky’s arms, feeling brittle, as if you should shatter if you stayed there any longer. He let you go, and the lack of contact was immediately awful.

“Everything,” he said softly. “Or at least, everything that matters.”

You nodded, hugging yourself again as you stared at the rug. It was faded and looked old. It had probably been here when this had been the Ancient One’s office. Bucky still didn’t know about that conversation, which meant Strange didn’t either.

It was an impossible hope, but it was something.

“I want to talk to him.” You looked up at him. “I want to talk to Strange.”

Bucky said your name with a defeated sigh, but you shook your head.

“Maybe I can convince him not to break the bond. He doesn’t know the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, digging your nails into your arm.

“I… in the memories, I might have… spoken to the Ancient One.”

You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Bucky to stride forward and grab your shoulders almost hard enough to hurt.

“_What?_ What did she say?”

“That I should talk to Strange.” You blinked up at him, startled. “And that I was stuck in some kind of-of time loop? And that there would be a decision to be made, but it would be wrong, and—“

_“A time-loop?”_ His mouth opened, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d talked to her?”

“I-I didn’t know if I was supposed to!” You squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, but he didn’t let you go. “We didn’t speak for long—“

“When? What memory was it?”

You stuttered, heart hammering as you said, “It-it was on the rooftop, in the garden. You were trying to guise your feet, but you were frustrated. She knew I was there and she-she spoke to me.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted over your shoulder and grew distant.

“She… she was distracted that day. She’d never been distracted before.”

You opened your mouth, and the door to the office opened abruptly. Bucky dropped his hands from your shoulders, but the troubled frown lingered as he turned toward Strange. The wizard looked at you both with the reluctance of someone carrying bad news.

“I think I have a solution, or at least, one that will work for the time being. Temporary, but effective.”

“All right,” Bucky said. “I’m listening.”

Strange glanced briefly in your direction.

“The cryostasis chamber.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, but you only frowned, not understanding.

“It’s still in storage,” Strange continued. “We kept everything from the Siberian laboratory, including a means to keep you contained should it become necessary. I would say this warrants it. I calculate with the sealing glyphs in place, it should cut off the bond as well.”

Glyphs. A laboratory. _Siberia._

All at once, you remembered it. Positioned behind Bucky as he writhed, screaming in the chair. A large stone cylinder with glyphs carved into it, open and spilling out steam as if it had just held something cold.

It was where HYDRA had stored the Winter Soldier.

This time when you lunged at Strange, the rage was entirely your own.

Bucky grabbed you around the waist and hauled you back just before your outstretched fingers could tear into Strange.

_“You bastard!”_ you screamed, fighting to break free of Bucky’s steel grip. _“You’re no better than they are!”_

Strange hadn’t moved an inch, but his cape faintly rustled.

“It seems you two have more to talk about,” he said in a low voice. “Sergeant, you may take her to one of the guest rooms until she calms down.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, hoisting you off your feet as you squirmed.

“I don’t need to _calm down!”_ You twisted so you could meet Strange’s eye, teeth bared as you snarled, _“You’re making the wrong choice!”_

Your accusations were met with silence and you eventually gave up the struggle as Bucky half-carried, half-dragged you away from Strange’s office.

“He’s making a mistake,” you cried, holding onto Bucky weakly as your world slowly fell apart. “They can’t do this… they can’t…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Those soft words were the most devastating thing you’d ever heard. You remained silent, unable to speak, as Bucky led you through the halls that would soon become his tomb.


	36. Bereaved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries to convince you why this is the only option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll after reading the last chapter, crying, holding a nerf gun to my head: "Say sike"
> 
> It's going to be real sad for a while. I'm so sorry. Just hang in there, I got you fam.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, dissociation, past references to abuse/torture, grief

It was like you were in a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare.

Bucky had taken you to a secluded room, one that looked suspiciously like the room you’d stayed in before, and he tried to explain why this was the best option. Why putting him into some magical fridge would temporarily negate the bond.

You could barely listen to him. Couldn’t even look at him. You couldn’t believe this was really happening. It was too sudden, too fast, he hadn’t even_ talked_ to you about it. He’d just made the decision on his own, and it was too late to take it back now.

At first came the anger. The rotting, bitter rage that he would do this to you. Betray you. Leave you _again_ when he promised not to. You wanted to scream all of that at him, but you didn’t. You let him know in a low, flat tone just how hurt you were, and his sorrowful expression only made you angrier. What_ right_ did he have to feel sad when he was the one who’d done this?!

Once the rage bled out of you, you tried to reason with Bucky. Told him to think, to _really think_ about it. How did they know it would work? That you wouldn’t drop dead as soon as the bond was severed?

Bucky explained, much too calmly and reasonably, that he’d been through something similar before and why he knew it would be safe.

That was also how you found out about Steve.

“Back during the war, he… he rescued me from HYDRA,” Bucky said, chewing his lip nervously. “They’d started the ritual to turn me into a demon not long before that. Zola hadn’t had time to enslave me with a bond, and when Steve was untying me, he was hurt. He bled on the open wounds on my chest, carved there as part of the ritual. Apparently, that was enough to complete what they’d started… and make Steve my first master.”

You didn’t say anything as you listened. You were sitting on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest as Bucky sat in a nearby armchair. You were too upset to want to be touched, but at the same time, you missed it so much. Missed the effortless affection when you’d been in Boston.

The yearning twisted in your gut at his next words.

“The urges came soon after that. I tried to resist them. Tried to sate the hunger by picking up girls at the bars, whenever we had time to stop in a town. It didn’t work, not like it does with you, because I was a… a succubus then.” He shifted in discomfort, his expression flushed with shame. “Finally gave in and hooked up with a guy. It was exactly what I needed, and I hated it. Or rather, I hated that it made me confront things about myself that were already true before Zola got ahold of me. Things you were supposed to keep hidden away in shame back then.”

He looked down at his claws, glaring at them angrily as if they were to blame. You remained quiet, curious and afraid of where this tale was going.

“I looked normal back then, so it was easier to hide what was happening to me. And then I got involved in a pretty scary situation, a bunch of guys cornered me in an alley. The pheromones took over and I let them all…just…” He cut off his words with a shake of his head. “Right after, that’s when I grew my tail. Not as big as it is now, but I was hysterical, anyway. Tried to cut it off. _Did_ cut it off, actually, and it grew right back. I didn’t understand that large wounds like that will induce a heat.”

Bucky licked his lips, his shoulders hunched and tense. You wished so badly to touch him, but you didn’t.

“I was starving, in agony, and there was no one else around to help… but Steve.”

Something clicked into place, and suddenly it was like you could see one of those 3D eye-puzzles where the image was always out of sight until you focused just right. Bucky’s affection when talking about his friend, the haunted look in his eyes, it all made sense now.

“Steve saw the tail, I was in no damn condition to hide it, and the pheromones kicked in bad. I tried to fight it, but he said he wanted to help, so… I gave in. Didn’t have a choice at the time, but he kept helping me after that. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d had feelings for Steve long before then, and… God, this is not the way I wanted to tell you.” He gave a bitter laugh, and this time you did reach out and put your hand over his.

Bucky looked up at you, his eyes glass and red, and you squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m glad he was there for you, Bucky.” And you meant it, too. You couldn’t imagine how terrified he’d been, his body rebelling against him, tormenting him until he was forced to have sex—

Or, maybe you could imagine it. You could imagine it, which was why you were suddenly so grateful to have Bucky there when you were scared and in pain. And you were glad Steve had been that person for Bucky.

Bucky’s expression softened as he whispered, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You interlaced your fingers with his. “Really glad. He seems like a great guy.”

“He is.” Bucky’s faint smile faded and the haunted look returned. “For a while, we were actually happy. We were in the middle of a war, part of a special unit trying to track down more of HYDRA’s occult labs, but we had each other and… I should have known it wouldn’t last.

“We were on a mission to retrieve Zola when it all went wrong. I fell from the train… and the Soviet branch of HYDRA found me.” Bucky’s expression darkened further, his lips pulling back from his sharp teeth. “I was in and out of conscious as they worked on the arm I lost, but I woke up during the surgery. I could feel Steve, hurting, _dying_. I found out later he’d plunged into the ice. Not dead, but… the bond was broken enough that I could be bonded to someone else. And I was.”

Bucky’s features twisted into bitterness as he looked down at your interlaced fingers.

“So my point is, no. It won’t kill you. But I won’t lie and say it won’t hurt. Because it’s gonna hurt like hell, and I’m sorry you’ll have to endure it.”

“Then—why do it at all?” you pled as you slid forward on the bed, sitting on its edge as you tightly gripped his hand. “If the bond is that dangerous, then we can stay here. They can monitor us and make sure no one can get hurt.”

Bucky shook his head before you’d stopped speaking.

“What kind of life is that? Keeping you trapped in this place like a prison. What would you tell your mom? Your sister?”

Eyes stinging, you looked away, hot shame now mixed in with your lingering, ever-present anger.

“That’s low, Bucky.”

“You _have_ a life. You _deserve_ to have a life.” He scoffed and for the first time finally sounded angry. He stood up, dropping your hand in the process, his tail twitching as he paced the floor in front of you. “How did you think this would end, realistically? That we’d get our happily ever after and go live in a two-story house with a white picket fence? Maybe a dog and two-point-five kids?”

Directed at you or not, you weren’t going to let that go unchallenged.

“What if I did?” you snapped, standing up from the bed. “Would that have been so bad? Maybe we could have made it work, but we’ll never know because you didn’t even try!”

He rounded on you and your heart leapt in your throat as you stumbled back. But Bucky didn’t do much more than glare.

“I am doing this… for you.”

“You’re doing this because you’re afraid!” you shot back.

“You’re goddamn_ right _I’m afraid!”

He immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath, curling his fists and releasing them. You stood completely rigid, barely breathing yourself.

Like a flower wilting, his shoulders sagged, curled wings drooping. Even his tail hung limp behind his legs.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” He walked up to you, carefully keeping space between you. It hurt. “But this is the right thing to do. I regret I had to do it this way, without talking to you about it, but ultimately… it was my responsibility.”

“But—“

“This isn’t a romance, sweetheart. This is captivity.” Bucky met your eye and didn’t look away. “No matter how much I wish otherwise, we can’t be in a relationship when neither of us has the option to leave it.”

The words cut through the middle of your chest life a knife. Because nothing cut as deep as the truth.

You turned away and hugged your arms tightly around yourself, as if warding off a chill or protecting yourself. That’s what it certainly felt like. Shielding yourself from the pain blooming in your chest like a flower of daggers.

Bucky’s voice was close and low behind you, but still he didn’t touch you.

“I’ve spent the last two days getting things… prepared. I know this will be difficult for you and I didn’t want to leave you all alone, so I… reached out to Steve.”

You slowly turned back around.

“You… what?”

“Strange had his number.” Bucky dipped his hands into his pockets, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “When I called, Steve was shocked, to say the least. And then angry, which, I’m sure you can relate to.”

You shook your head, more to clear it than as actual response. Bucky reaching out to Steve was a huge deal, especially now that you knew the depth of their past relationship. You couldn’t even imagine how difficult that must have been for him.

“What… what did he say? What did you tell him? How much does he know?”

“Everything.” Bucky’s smile was brief and unhappy. “It’s why it took two days. We had a lot to talk about. He’s… mostly okay with it now. Just pissed. Not at you, of course. At me for not letting him know I’ve been alive all this time.”

As if in afterthought, Bucky rubbed his jaw.

“Bastard sure hits a lot harder than when he was scrawny.” At your concerned frown, he added, “Look, a sucker-punch to the face is the least I deserve, even if that bastard does hit like a truck these days.”

“Bucky…”

“My point is, I asked Steve to check up on you when I’m—“

“No.” You shook her head vehemently and grabbed him by the jacket. “No, stop talking like that. You’re not doing this. I won’t _let_ you do this! You are not throwing your life away because of me!”

He wrapped his fingers over yours, his smile so sad it hurt.

“My chance at a good life was taken away from me a long time ago. It’s not too late for you. When this is all said and done, you can go back to your old life. You’ll have Steve to talk to, now that he knows who you are, and I know Davin will be there for you too.”

“Davin?” You wrinkled your nose. “Why would you bring up _Davin?”_

“Because he’s a good kid.”

You eyed him, wanting to say something scathing and sarcastic, but the way he was rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand was very distracting.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” you finally said.

“Okay, I admit,” Bucky said with a grimace, “I was more of a hard ass than I needed to be. I didn’t know the guy. I thought he was just some young punk who would run his mouth the first chance he got.”

He looked down and released a slow inhale.

“I was wrong. You know the whole erasing memories thing I can do?”

You blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“Well…” He released one of your hands to run his fingers through his hair, wings slightly shuffling behind him. “After we brought you and Davin here, I went and tracked down every human that was in contact with the heigore, before and after it had possessed your friend. I took away the memories that showed evidence he was acting odd. That’s what I was doing while you were at the Sanctum. When I was gone those few days.”

“Oh.” You remembered that time very clearly. The loneliness, the fear of abandonment. The boredom that had inevitably led you to follow Monster into the vault. You shivered.

“I was going to do the same to Davin. Erase the memories that the heigore was ever there. I can’t _change_ memories, and the large gap in his memory wouldn’t have been good either, so Strange was going to give him the suggestion that he’d been very sick. But your friend, when I asked him if that’s what he wanted to do? He said no.”

Bucky slightly tilted his head brow dipped and his tail twitching with unease.

“He said, ‘If she has to remember it, then so will I. I don’t want her to have to live with it all alone.’”

Davin had said that? You were touched, really. But…

“Yeah, Davin is a good guy. And I’m sure Steve is too. But they’re not _you_, Bucky.”

“I know.” It was there in his eyes, quiet resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind. You were going to lose him, and there was nothing you could do or say to change it.

“When?”

He didn’t have to ask what you meant.

“Tomorrow. Three PM.”

New Year’s Eve. You were going to lose Bucky just in time for the world to celebrate a new beginning.

That’s when the sorrow wormed its way into your heart. It weighed on your shoulders like gravity, and you didn’t know how you could stand. The conversation was over, and you were left with a blank numbness that felt uncomfortably close to dissociation.

You wouldn’t eat. You refused to go home. The wizards allowed you to stay the night without much of a fuss, and you couldn’t even give them a thank you.

Bucky stayed with you through your detached state. He held your hand, rubbed your back, tried to assure you that everything would be fine. You didn’t say a word.

He tried to get you to sleep but you just lay curled on your side, trying to make yourself small enough to disappear. It wasn’t until about 5 in the morning that there was some stirring of life in you. You crawled over on top of Bucky and buried your face in his neck.

Breathing you in, Bucky hugged you tightly, wrapping his wings around you and created a safe, protective bubble just for the two of you. Only then, did you allow yourself to cry.


	37. Sundering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chuckles* I'm in danger.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, whump, grief

Acceptance finally came, but brought with it no relief.

The hours ticked by, each one stealing another moment less you had with Bucky. It was like waiting on death row, but there would be no stay of execution. You were really going to lose him.

That thought was almost as terrifying as the reality that you would be cut off from him. You’d gotten so used to the bond you didn’t know what life would be like without it. Worst of all, you had no guarantee you’d feel the same about Bucky after the link was severed.

_Would_ you still feel the same way about him? Would you still love him? And if you didn’t, was it even love in the first place?

No clock, not even the magical ones that surely existed in this placed, granted you mercy and slowed their procession. All you could do was hold onto Bucky, stroke his demonic arm and his wings, touch him and kiss him and remind yourself he was still here, right here, and he wasn’t gone yet.

As much as you wanted otherwise, you kept your clothes on and kept the touching innocent, even if your kisses grew more heated and desperate. He didn’t want to go, you realized from how tightly he clung to you in return. He didn’t want to leave you in the slightest. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

The sun rose and neither of you bothered to get out of bed. You had nowhere else you wanted to be. Monster had dry food that would last him for days, along with a pet drinking fountain. Your mom would start to worry from your lack of texts, but she’d survive. You weren’t so sure about yourself.

When Bucky spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse, and you were half-asleep curled in his arms.

“I’m giving you the keys to my place.”

You blinked open your eyes, frowning and wondering if you’d heard right.

“What?”

“I want you to stay there.” He brushed his thumb across the side of your jaw, lips touching your hair. “I know it’s a big place, but at least you won’t have to pay rent. It’s a good location, great view, and you’ll be safe. Strange has anti-dark magic wards all over the place. Apparently, it keeps beings with ill-intent from being able to step over the threshold. I’m sure your little monster will love it.”

He spoke your name in a soft question when his words were met with silence. You shook your head and gripped his jacket tightly again. Why did he have to make this so difficult by being so damn perfect?

“I’m just…” You sniffed and swallowed. “I’m just going to house-sit for you until… until Strange finds a better solution.”

Bucky said your name again.

“And then you’ll be back and everything will be, will be the same. Waiting for you. _Because you’re coming back.”_ You fought to control the quivering of your voice, made no easier by his gentle touches. “I have to believe that, Bucky. I have to have hope, or I can’t… I can’t make it through this.”

“You will,” he reassured you with a squeeze. “You’re so damn strong and you’re going to be fine, no matter what happens.”

You were quiet for a moment, and eventually asked in a small voice, “What am I going to tell Mom?”

Bucky didn’t have an answer. It was probably for the best, because your heart was breaking all over again, and you cried into his arms until you didn’t have any tears left to shed.

It was noon before the two of you got out of bed. You hadn’t slept at all except for a moment or two of light dozing. Bucky insisted you eat something. A tray of food had appeared, you didn’t know from where, and you managed to stomach some crackers and pieces of fruit. You did it more to ease Bucky’s worries and to get him to eat too.

Before the appointed hour of doom, you sought out Strange for that stay-of-execution yourself. You pled with Wong to grant you an audience with Strange, and when he prepared to shoot you down, you said, “I spoke to the Ancient One.”

It was all you had to say. You’d expected Wong to treat you like you were delusional, but his expression grew serious as he looked between you and Bucky, and finally said, “Come with me. Now. Not you, Barnes. Just her.”

Bucky grimaced, but you gave him a weak smile.

“Back before you know it.”

He eyed your smile doubtfully; Bucky knew the reason you wanted to speak to Strange, but that wasn’t going to deter you from doing everything in your power to change their minds.

You told Strange everything about the memory. About witnessing the Winter Soldier’s death, about joining and interacting with him in the memory of the demon realm, and finally, of passively watching everything that came after. Only when the Ancient One had noticed your presence that you could finally distinguish between your consciousness and Bucky’s.

Your hope was that Strange would see just how intertwined you and Bucky were, and that freezing Bucky was a cruel idea.

Unfortunately, he seemed to come to the opposite conclusion.

“Sergeant Barnes should have come to me as soon as he broke his oath,” Strange said, fingers steepled from where he sat behind his desk. “He could have easily killed you, or worse, caused you to lose yourself. It’s apparent this bond goes far deeper than it should, and it is a danger to your wellbeing.”

“But,” you stammered, digging your fingers into the hem of your sweater, “the Ancient One helped Bucky. She trusted him. She knew he wasn’t—“

“Dangerous?” Strange interrupted, brow raised. “Of course she did. It was why she made the bargain to begin with: freedom without feeding. The cryo-chamber is not a punishment; Barnes cannot deny his nature any more than a shark sensing blood in the water. He’s driven by deep instinctual urges that he can’t control, not while he’s bonded to you. If he were a free demon, that would be one thing. The formula would work and he could live without feeding, or if you both decided, the feeding could be consensual. But since this pact was formed, even unintentionally, the bond between you is irresistible and deadly.”

Strange rose to his feet, rearranging his cape.

“This is for his sake as much as it’s for yours.”

“And what if you’re wrong!” you cried, panic clawing at your throat. “What if the Ancient One was talking about this moment when she said I had to make a choice! A choice that would affect us both!”

Strange shook his head as he rounded his desk to face you.

“Whatever she saw, whatever her reasons for giving you that bit of advice? It doesn’t apply to this moment simply because you wish it to. And besides, she said it would be _your _choice. The decision to put Barnes into stasis is mine, not yours. You have no control in this matter, so I doubt that’s what she was referring to.”

“But—“ You tried again, but he raised a hand and you fell silent. His expression was not unkind, and that was perhaps the worst thing of all. He really did believe he was helping you and Bucky.

“We will, of course, look for unexplored avenues of binding magic. There’s no guarantee we will find an answer, and if we do, it could take years. You should prepare yourself for the possibility that this is the best we can do.” Strange met your eye and his face softened. “I truly am sorry.”

That was it, then. There was no hope. You were numb again when you returned to Bucky. He wasn’t alone.

“Hi.”

One of the most recognizable and famous people on the planet extended his hand to shake yours. Old-fashioned manners died hard, you supposed.

“I’m Steve,” he said, his smile reserved but charming.

It was a true testament to your mental state that you didn’t even blink. Shaking hands with Captain America did very little to break you out of your numb distress.

“I’m sorry you two have to meet like this,” Bucky said, shuffling slightly on his feet. “You both deserve better.”

“Don’t worry about it, Buck.” The tall, blond man clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you reached out to me. I wished we had more time to talk, to catch up, but… it’s more than I had before.”

It seemed Steve Rogers had gotten used to living in the future; he was wearing fairly ordinary jeans, boots, and a riding jacket. He looked even more gallant and heroic than in the videos.

And still, you stared at him with all the personality of a rock. Bucky noticed.

“Hey, Steve. Give us a minute, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Rogers gave you a small, almost shy smile before ducking out of the room. Even through your numbness, you could acknowledge how weird this was. Bucky contacting his best-friend-slash-previous-boyfriend so that he could check in on his current-girlfriend-slash-human-slave while he was put in a fridge.

It would have been really funny if not for the horrifying fact you only had two hours left.

Bucky was about to speak, but whatever it was died on his lips as you launched forward and wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in his shoulder.

He returned the gesture, lightly rubbing your back.

“I appreciate you trying, sweetheart, but… this is for the best.”

“It’s not,” you said, sniffling into his jacket. “It’s a mistake, and I’m the only one who sees it.”

Bucky said nothing but he did continue to stroke your back. Maybe there was some part of him that agreed with you, that didn’t want to leave.

When you asked him that very question, Bucky pulled back and said, “Of course I don’t want to leave.”

You bit your lip to keep from barking out _then don’t!_ Instead, you said, “Will you stay with me until…”

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “Yeah, of course.”

Bucky left for only a few minutes to talk to Rogers, telling him what you had no idea, and then he returned to find you moping on the couch. He picked you up and sat down, sitting you in his lap and wrapping his arms tight around you. Resting your head on his shoulder, you curled up in his limbs as much as possible, happy when he dropped his guise. He’d kept it up when Steve had been present. You could guess why, and it made your heart ache to know Bucky still had so much shame over what he was.

It was silent between you; there wasn’t anything left to say that couldn’t be expressed in the small, desperate, meaningful touches. Two hours had never gone by so quickly.

Bucky led you through the hallways, and the warm, ruddy decorations had never felt so cold and distant. Rogers was waiting outside a closed door, one that looked vaguely familiar. And it should. This was the room where Davin had been freed of the heigore.

The stone altar was gone, and in its place, a massive sarcophagus-like object. It stood open, tendrils of fog curling from its glowing interior as Strange, Wong, and several other sorcerers stood around it.

You wanted to grab Bucky and drag him out of there, away from such an evil-looking instrument. They were going to put him in _that thing?_ It looked like a stone coffin, or an Iron Maiden, or any number of torture devices.

But you didn’t do any of those things. This was hard enough for Bucky, unimaginably so, and you weren’t going to make it more difficult by causing a scene.

Instead, you squeezed his hand and clung to his outstretched fingers until the two sorcerers that now reminded you of prison guards led him away to the thing that would trap him inside.

You hadn’t even said goodbye. You’d thought your actions over the past few hours had been enough to convey what you felt, but what if it wasn’t? What if Bucky was frozen without ever knowing what he meant to you?

You took a step forward, but a large hand clamped down on your shoulder. It wasn’t harsh but it was firm, and it pulled you back a step. You glared over your shoulder, and Rogers gave you a pitying look.

You almost shook him off, suddenly angry at the Avenger, but you let the hand stay where it was, turning back to Bucky with your heart in your throat. He was turned around now, facing you as the sorcerers helped him step back into the shadow of the chamber. He hadn’t had a choice about keeping his guise down today, and his wings were tucked into the shell on his back as his tail wrapped tightly around his leg.

The heavy iron door closed with a finality that stopped your heart. Pneumatic hisses and an intensified humming filled the room.

You could see Bucky’s face through the oval window of the door. White fog blew from his mouth, steaming up the glass, but it didn’t cover up the fact he was _scared._ It was in the widening of his eyes and the quick pace of his breathing. Too fast and shallow.

You tried to take another step forward, but Rogers wouldn’t let you. You wanted to jerk away, scream at him to _do something!_ That was his best friend in there and Rogers was an Avenger, for fuck’s sake! Couldn’t he stop this?!

But Rogers only stared at the iron coffin that held Bucky, his expression pained, even if he did hide it well behind a stern mask.

Strange stepped forward, expression equally somber. He drew his palm in a circle in the air, and a series of concentric glowing circles appeared on the side of the chamber. He tapped them with his fingers, almost as if he were working a machine panel.

All at once, the window went almost completely opaque as it was covered with ice, and at the same moment, agony shot through your chest like a freezing steel blade.

Doubling over, unable to draw air, you would have collapsed if not for Roger’s arms around your waist. The sound escaping you didn’t sound human. It was a wounded animal, dying in agony.

Your veins were fire and your lungs filled with ice. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, someone was squeezing your heart in their fist, and with a vicious wrench, tore it out.

Even as Rogers pulled you back out of the room, as the sorcerers surged forward with concerned expressions, you clawed weakly at the air, reaching out for the machine where your heart was contained, and was forced to leave it behind.


	38. Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You deal with the consequences of Bucky's actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: "This is not how I wanted to meet Steve."
> 
> Me too fam me too. But I hope you've got a blanket and a warm cup of tea/cocoa, because this is a nice long chapter and a bunch of stuff happens. We're in the thicc of it now.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and trusting me through this journey.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Angst, whump, violence

You didn’t return home that night. The sorcerers wanted to monitor your vitals and made sure you were stabilized after the shock of the bond being suppressed. The agony you’d experienced hadn’t hurt you physically, even though it had felt like dying.

Now you felt… lost. You weren’t even numb, because being numb meant you at least knew what you were feeling. This was different and so much worse.

At least twice an hour you lifted you head from where you laid in the bed, some part of you yearning, reaching out to Bucky and expecting him to be there. But there was nothing across the bond, across the thread you hadn’t realized was there until it was gone.

The mark was still on your shoulder, but it appeared dormant. Faded pink like a fresh scar. The sorcerers said it had worked and you would no longer be compelled to be fed upon.

All you did was give a vague nod. You hadn’t spoken a word since Bucky had been frozen.

Rogers, for his part, never strayed far. He was clearly off-balance with the situation and didn’t seem to know what to do any more than you did. Bucky had sprung this on you both, and the angry part of you said he’d abandoned you to pick up the pieces yourself.

Perhaps it was cruel and unfair of you to feel that way, but anger was better than despair. You were too empty and wrung-out to cry, and perhaps that was a blessing.

It was well into the early hours of the morning when you finally dozed off, and when you woke before noon, Rogers had fallen asleep in the armchair by the bed. Just like Bucky had done when you’d woken up in this room the first time.

But he wasn’t Bucky. He could never be a substitute. A part of you wondered if that’s what Bucky had been thinking when he’d contacted Rogers. Maybe he hadn’t gone that far, but asking his best friend to “care for his girl” while he was gone sounded like some old chivalrous bullshit that he might pull. Goddammit, he might have even said as much to Rogers, assuring him that it was all right if you “moved on.”

You eyed the blond Avenger and grimaced.

_When Bucky unfreezes, I’m going to punch him in his beautiful fucking face._

The thought was surprisingly reassuring, because it meant you truly believed he would wake up. In fact, you were going to guarantee it, even if you had to take matters into your own hands. Bucky had mentioned a library, and Strange was supposed to re-test you and teach you, whatever that meant.

Which meant you would be in the Sanctum on a regular basis…

…which _also_ meant you could not only do some research on your own, you could visit every day.

They would let you visit, wouldn’t they? You didn’t know, but at least you could reassure yourself that the bond had nothing to do with your feelings for Bucky. They were as solid as ever, which was both a relief and a curse. His absence was already heavy in your chest, and it felt more akin to grief than just simply missing someone.

You got out of bed, seizing onto the determination to start,_ today_, to help Bucky. It was New Year’s, after all. Time to get a fucking move on.

“Hey, Rogers. Wake up.” You nearly kicked his shoe but refrained, which was probably a good thing considering your voice alone startled him awake.

“Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “I must have dozed off.”

You ignored his apology.

“Do you want to help Bucky?”

“Huh?” He blinked, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. Apparently, Captain America was a slow waker. “Of course I do.”

“Good. I need to ask a favor.”

“What… kind of favor?”

“You’d just be carrying some things, that’s all.” Sheesh, what was with the nervous tone? What did he think you were going to ask? You folded your arms over your chest, resisting the urge to tap your foot against the floor. “I need to pack up my stuff and move it here. Strange is going to train me, or at least he should, and while he’s doing that, I’m going to do all the research I can into demon bonds. We’re going to free Bucky.”

“Whoa, slow down.” He rose out of the chair, forcing you back a small step. You’d forgotten how damn big he was. “What are you talking about? Didn’t Buck want you to move into his loft?”

“Yes,” you grit through your teeth. “But I need to be_ here_. I’m sure Strange won’t mind if it means he gets to keep a closer eye on me. So, by the end of the day, I need to move all my clothes to the Sanctum and the rest into storage.”

Rogers rubbed the back of his head, one hand propped on his hip as he frowned at you.

“Aren’t you moving a little too fast?” He winced. “I mean, I don’t know you, but shouldn’t you take some time to think about this?”

“To think about _what?_ I need to be here and I don’t have the money to waste paying rent on an apartment I’m not using.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Well, don’t worry about that. I can take care of your rent. It’s no trouble.”

Your eyes narrowed. Could have sworn you saw the sweat droplets form on his forehead, too.

“Did Bucky ask you to do that?”

His uncomfortable smile was all the answer you needed.

“I don’t mind, really.” His smile became more genuine and less nervous. “Got a backlog of pay from the US Government I wouldn’t know what to do with. I can afford it.”

“Listen, Rogers,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “I appreciate the offer, I know you didn’t have to do that, but I’m fine now. You don’t need to take care of me.”

Hoping he got the picture, you turned and left the room you’d already designated as yours. You needed to run your plan past Strange or Wong, and then you could get started right away. That was the solution to both Bucky’s freedom and the painful effects of the severed bond. When you were distracted, your mind churning with ideas, it was easier to ignore the black hole occupying your chest.

Unfortunately, a second set of footsteps caught up with you, the owner of the voice a little sheepish.

“Bucky said you’d say as much.”

“Did he also tell you how stubborn and willful I am?” you responded sharply. “Maybe even threw in the word _reckless?”_

Rogers surprised you with a small laugh.

“Almost word for word.”

“Well, he’s not exactly one to talk,” you huffed. The man at your side just smiled wider.

“No, he’s not.”

“Good. Then you agree that Bucky is being an absolute idiot and _something_ has to be done about it.”

“Hey, whoa.” A hand reached out to stop you from walking. You barely tolerated it and craned your head back to glare up at him. “Listen, I know you’re angry at Bucky, but…”

_That _was an understatement. He smiled sadly, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“A long time ago, someone much wiser than I am gave me a bit of advice,” Rogers said. “As much as you and I may not like it, this was Bucky’s decision. He deserves the dignity of his choice, even if it hurts. Even if we miss him.”

He looked away toward the high windows where winter light was streaming inside to illuminate the wood floor.

“I wish I’d had more time with him myself, but… there’s nothing we can do. He had his reasons, and it sounds to me like they were very good ones. It will take time, it’ll hurt, but he would want us to move on—“

You pushed Rogers’ hand off your shoulder. Not roughly, but not gently either, and he blinked down at you.

“I’m _not _giving up on Bucky,” you said, clenching your fists as you fought to keep your tone even. “I’ll never stop looking for a solution. No matter how long it takes.”

With a heated glare, you turned and left Rogers in the hallway, grinding your teeth. You’d thought Steve Rogers would have understood if anyone could have. But he didn’t, and you were truly alone.

* * *

You found Wong on the way to Strange’s office, and he agreed to take you there, not looking too surprised to find you practically stomping down the carpet runner.

Strange agreed to redo the tests as well as add on a few that were more “specialized,” whatever that meant. It involved more poking and prodding with arcane instruments, but you never complained. The discomfort was a small price to pay.

The results were the same as before: you were as magically skilled as a brick, and not the kind of brick that went into building magical sanctums, either. But the Ancient One’s words must have held enough clout for that not to matter, because Strange promised you would be training under Wong the next day.

Wong didn’t look too enthused about it, and you couldn’t blame him. Regarding the last disastrous meeting, you apologized for biting him, but he waved you off and said no apology was needed. Regardless, you felt terrible. Not terrible enough for Bucky to be put into a freezing chamber, but still, pretty awful.

As you suspected, Strange didn’t deny your request to move into the Sanctum. Wong gave him a considerable side-eye when he agreed, but you’d gotten what you wanted, and that’s all that mattered.

Steve Rogers, true to his word, helped move most of your belongings to your new room. Monster complained at being put in the carrier—he’d been acting difficult lately—but once you released him into your room he settled down. You wondered what that was about and found your answer when he took off and you chased him down the hallways, leading you to the room that held…

The two guards in front of the door were trying to catch Monster, but he slipped through their fingers like furry oil and scratched and yowled at the door. Tears stung your eyes as you scooped him up, holding him to your chest, and the guards looked extremely put-out.

“Can… can I see him?” You already knew the answer but were still disappointed when you received it.

“Only the Sorcerer Supreme and those with his approval may enter,” one of them said, eyeing Monster.

Your focus went to that heavy, stone door. Intricate glyphs were carved into its surface, and you wondered if even a hobgoblin could slip past them. It took every ounce of your willpower to step away, to leave Bucky all alone, you held Monster tightly as you walked back to your room.

“It’s okay,” you spoke softly into his grey fur. “We’ll be able to visit at some point. I’m sure. If the bond is suppressed, then what danger could there be?”

Danger or not, Strange wouldn’t let you see Bucky. “Not yet,” was his response when you asked. For now, according to him, you needed to focus on your lessons, which consisted of meditation, learning the combat stances (sorcerers could _fight?),_ and learning to conjure.

The meditation part was the easiest, or would have been if your mind wasn’t a constant bundle of anxiety. The martial arts lessons were definitely more interesting, even if your body was laughably clumsy and uncoordinated. You saw other “students” around, but you always trained with Wong alone. When you asked why, he cited the fact you were at the same learning level as a 6 year-old. The hit to your ego made you stop asking about joining the others.

Days turned into a week. A week into two. You’d returned to work, a truly surreal experience especially with seeing Davin again. He was kind and spent more time with you than he used to, sitting with you during lunch and then walking you to your cab after work. A part of you wondered if he knew. If Bucky had asked him to keep an eye on you while he was gone.

You didn’t ask.

Steve Rogers didn’t stop by every day, but he was there at least twice a week. At first it was awkward—what were you supposed to talk about with an Avenger?—but then he began to share history. Tales of his and Bucky’s youth and all the ways they got into trouble. It was through your common interest in Bucky that you began to warm up to each other, and he never had a shortage of stories when it came to his childhood friend.

Sometimes, he would get this yearning expression, and you were uncomfortably reminded that he and Bucky had been much closer than simple friends. You wondered if Rogers knew that you knew.

It was normal for a person to compare themselves to a partner’s ex. You weren’t sure how to feel being compared to Captain America, except the fact you couldn’t compare at all, and Bucky had definitely downgraded. You weren’t a super soldier with biceps the size of melons.

Regardless, Rogers’ company was appreciated and comforting, unlike when it had been simply tolerated before. But by week two, you were no longer coping as well as you once were. Perhaps Wong noticed during your lessons, because when you asked him once again if you could see Bucky, he had a different answer for you.

You stood outside the door, nerves tingling as the two sorcerers on guard duty unlocked the room with some complicated hand gestures. The door swung open heavily on its hinges, and you stepped forward, fists pressed against your thighs.

The room hadn’t changed, still dim and creepy with glyphs running along the walls. The iron chamber was where you’d last seen it, lit from within with a pale, ghostly light. It made the man inside appear barely real, darkness in the hollows in his cheeks and cast by the shadows of his horns.

“No touching,” one sorcerer barked when you reached out toward the lid. You retracted your hand, twisting your finger anxiously as you looked back at the guard.

“Can I have a moment alone?”

“No.”

You turned back to the chamber, your chest aching with the gnawing emptiness that never left. It was worse in Bucky’s presence, but it was worth it just to see him again. To know he was still alive, even when it didn’t feel that way.

There was so much you wanted to say to him, but even a whisper could be overheard in this place. So you thought back to the way you’d communicated with Bucky in the demon realm, a place where you’d had no voice but he’d heard you anyway.

_Bucky, if you can hear me… I want you to know I’m so sorry._

He didn’t stir. You hadn’t really expected him to. You should have felt silly to stand there, talking to yourself in your own mind, but you didn’t. If anything, it felt like praying.

_I’m going to find a way to set you free. From the bond, from this prison. And then you can go wherever you want and do whatever you want. You don’t… don’t even have to stay with me. You can be with Steve again, if that’s what makes you happy._

You swallowed down the painful lump in your throat and pushed past the heavy weight on your heart.

_How many times have I told you I’d never give up on you? I meant it then and I mean it now. Just… hold on a little longer. I’ll figure something out. I’ll do whatever I have to so you can come back. So you can have a life you deserve. It’s the least I can do for… for… This is all my fault, Bucky. The bond, the time-loop, you breaking your deal with the Ancient One. It should be me in there, not you._

You took a steadying breath and blinked away the tears. Tears meant that you had conceded, and you weren’t ready to give up on him. Not now, not ever.

_I’ll fix this, Bucky. I will._

_I have to._

You stayed as long as you could, even as you shivered and grew colder in the chamber’s presence. It was constructed of thick metal and appeared air-tight, and yet, the longer you stood there the further the temperature dropped. By the time the guards informed you your time was up, you were trembling and your teeth clattered together.

You really, really hoped Bucky couldn’t feel the cold.

* * *

The resolve to stay away from Bucky’s apartment didn’t last much longer. That night, you informed Wong that you would be spending the night in the penthouse. You used the excuse that you wanted to make sure everything was in order. Maybe Bucky had some plants he needed watered, or something.

Wong just shrugged and said you weren’t a prisoner and could come and go as you pleased. Of course, that’s what he _said_, but you’d noticed the robed sorcerers trying to blend into the crowds as you got in and out of the cab for work. Bucky had been right when he said the wizards didn’t have parking, and you’d been forced to keep your car at Bucky’s building once you broke your old apartment lease.

You didn’t mind that the sorcerers were watching you. It was comforting in a way, even if a large part of you was still angry at Strange. You were pissed, but your brief encounter with the Ancient One had convinced you that the sorcerers weren’t malicious or evil. They seemed to be trying their best to protect the world from magical threats, even when their efforts fell short.

Tonight though, you wanted to be alone. Away from sorcerers and magic and iron chambers that looked too much like coffins.

After the taxi drove you to the building, the desk clerk greeted you as if he’d been expecting your arrival. You stepped inside the elevator and tried to relax as it carried you to the highest floor. You were exhausted down to your bones; maybe staying the night wasn’t a bad idea after all.

The place was exactly the same as Bucky had left it. There wasn’t even any dust aside from the snow that had gathered on the outside of the clock face windows. It was still too damn cold, and you pulled your coat tighter around you, slowly turning 180 degrees to gather in the large space.

Your old stuffed animal that served as your _animus_ was nowhere to be seen, and you hoped it was someplace safe. Knowing Bucky, it was. Still, you wondered what would happen to it now that the bond was silenced. Would it revert to an ordinary toy, or would it still contain your metaphorical heart?

You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Pulling off your jacket and shoes, you crawled under the soft covers of Bucky’s bed, stretching out on the silken sheets. That was one thing you’d noticed about his bed. Maybe Bucky really enjoyed soft things, but he didn’t seem like the type to indulge himself. He’d said something about heightened senses; perhaps his skin had been too sensitive for ordinary cotton?

The curiosity in your thoughts tumbled away as you buried yourself into Bucky’s pillows, still strong with his earthy, musky scent. You missed him so much, and the magnitude hadn’t hit you until that moment. You hugged the pillow tight to your chest and allowed the hole in your chest to ache.

You drifted off like that, holding onto the pillow like a lifeline. It could have been minutes or hours later when your eyes snapped open. The hairs on your nape stood straight and your heart raced in a panicked beat. A stench permeated the air, familiar and sickening. Like rotten eggs.

You dashed across the bed, but not fast enough; a hand closed around your ankle and yanked you backwards. You yelled, clawing into the sheets as you were dragged across the mattress, and you hit the ground hard enough to lose your breath.

The face hovering above you was one you thought you’d never see again. Sickly green eyes glowed with malice, and the flower petal-like appendances of its face pulled back to reveal rows of neon green teeth. A mist the same radioactive color as its teeth leaked from its esophagus, and you covered your mouth as you screamed and kicked it in the shin.

The _Alp_ gave a deep, terrifying howl, and you crawled across the floor and then scrambled to your feet.

Where was your phone? Your bag? It was dark, you couldn’t see. You clipped your leg against the couch and fell onto the hardwood floor, banging your knees.

You could hear it coming, its stink in your nostrils even if you couldn’t see it. Your phone was on the nightstand next to the bed, you couldn’t go for it.

Gritting your teeth, nauseous from the smell and the adrenaline, you dashed toward your only hope left: the elevator.

You didn’t make it even halfway. A hand grabbed you by the hair and pulled you back. You cried out, clawing at the fingers holding onto you, but the _Alp_ didn’t relent.

Its other arm grabbed you around the waist, and that’s when the world tilted on its axis. The room spun, colors shifted and glowed together, and your stomach dropped as if you were on a roller coaster. Your surroundings blurred, and for the flash of a second, you saw red dunes and smelled burning, sulfurous air. The shape of the mountain range in the distance, the multiple moons hanging in the dusky sky, you knew them. Knew them intimately _because you’d watched them for forty-eight years._

Before you could take another breath the world shifted again, and you were in a cold, dim room lit only by electric lamps and caged light bulbs.

You tore yourself out of the _Alp’s _grip, staggered and fell again, gasping as you hit the cold stone flooring.

You ignored the pain and cold temperatures as you scurried away from the demon. It didn’t lunge for you; it stared at something just above your head.

Before you could turn around to see for yourself, something jabbed into your shoulder, and pain shot through your body as your muscles seized and your nerves caught fire.

The flow of electricity stopped, and you collapsed without another word or show of resistance. You could barely breathe, your vision swimming. The echo of someone’s footsteps passed by your head, and then a man was speaking, his voice soft and accented.

“Stupid creature,” he said, leaning down in front of you. A soft touch at your neck, almost gentle. No matter how much you tried to focus, his face remained blurry. “Couldn’t even follow simple instructions. And now look what I had to do.”

The man rose to his feet and left your field of vision. The last thing you heard before slipping away was the crackle of a cattle prod and the broken, tortuous wailing of the _Alp._


	39. Trammel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up, imprisoned and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update, but hopefully this chapter will be worth it. I'm very happy with the introduction of this mysterious character. Let me know your guesses as to who he is ;)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Kidnapping, captivity

Pain was the first thing you became aware of. A deep ache in your left shoulder, radiating down your body where it made contact with a hard, cold surface. The chill went deeper than your skin, seeping into your very bones.

You opened your eyes, winced, and shut them again. The room was dark but you’d stared directly at a caged bulb in the middle of the room, and even that dim light had sent a piercing pain through your skull.

More slowly this time, you cracked open your eyelids and took in the scenery. The first thing you noticed were the bars. You were in a small cell, stone walls on three sides, the fourth a cage of iron bars and open to a larger room. Everything was varying shades of grey, shadows cast in sharp relief by the sole light outside of your cell. The room beyond was bare, as far as you could tell, except for an old-fashioned projector in the corner.

Carefully, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, releasing a whimper as your muscles stretched in protest. You were still fully clothed at least, except your shoes were missing. It took you a moment to place them, still at Bucky’s penthouse where you’d been… taken.

Taken by the _Alp_. But there had been a man, hadn’t there? He’d hit you with a cattle prod or taser of some kind. And then he’d tortured the demon who’d abducted you. Or… were you misremembering? Didn’t electrocution have an effect on one’s short term memory?

Pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders, you rose to your feet and made a slow turn to examine your cell. It wasn’t very large and there wasn’t much to see. A stone bench was set into the wall and there was a bucket in one corner.

Perhaps it was the repetitive pattern of the stone that made it stand out in relief, but your eye was caught by a series of marks on the wall. You knelt in front of the bench and took a closer look, hoping for a clue as to where you were and why.

What you saw sent a jolt of recognition and horror through your mind. They were tally marks, dozens and dozens of rows of them. You recognized the particular slant of the fifth mark of each set of tallies. They were identical to the marks made on a cave deep within the demon realm.

The markings were Bucky’s.

You jerked your fingers away as if you’d been scalded. Panic leapt up your throat as you sprang to your feet.

_No! This can’t be happening!_

There was a door set into the bars and you grabbed it, rattling it as hard as you could. The iron wouldn’t budge. As old as the bars looked, maybe even as old a century, they weren’t going to break anytime soon.

You dug your fingers into your hair and tried to slow your racing heart. Taking a deep breath, you counted off the things you knew:

_You were abducted from Bucky’s apartment by another demon._

_A man was responsible, and he wanted you alive and relatively unharmed._

_Your surroundings were old, technologically primitive, and possibly underground._

Your pulse lowered to a more reasonable rate as you continued your mental checklist.

_You were in a place Bucky had been before._

And who else had held Bucky captive except the sorcerers? You knew the answer, and it threatened to send you into another anxiety attack.

_Think!_ you scolded yourself. If HYDRA was responsible, where are the rest of them? Soldiers, guards, henchmen, whatever. Surely there had to be more than one man?

But who else would have access to a place like this? Who else would know about demons? About _you?_

You paced the short length of the cell, both to keep your mind occupied and your body warm. It was a damp kind of chill, leading credence to the idea that you were underground or at least in an interior part of a stone building. You didn’t know much about Bucky’s captivity. Were you in the same place that you’d seen in the memory? It had also been dim and cold in that place, but it was too hard to tell.

Eventually your legs became too wobbly to hold you up, the adrenaline rush having run its course and leaving you weary and trembling. You sat on the stone bench and licked your chapped lips. They hadn’t forgotten you, had they? How long had you been down here? They wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to leave you to die, surely.

The only kernel of warmth and hope you could find was in the knowledge that perhaps even now, people were searching for you. Whether it be Rogers, Strange, or your boss from work, someone was bound to notice you were missing and would take steps to find you. Or at least, call your emergency contact.

Oh, God. Your mom. She would be devastated. Guilt twisted your insides and made it just a little harder to breathe.

All you could do was pray you were found quickly, but then you remembered how you’d gotten here to begin with. Colors blurring in the air like a water painting, the stench of burning sulfur, and the nauseating sensation of gravity shifting. How far had the _Alp _taken you?

At least you could take comfort you were still on the same planet and hope there wasn’t any time traveling involved, now that you knew_ that_ was a real thing.

After an indeterminate amount of time where you waited in silence, head cradled in your hands, a heavy wooden door opened on the far side of the outer room. Your head jerked up and you half-rose to your feet in an awkward crouch, trapped between fight and flight with an option for neither.

When the man walked beneath the caged bulb, you blinked in surprise. He was not what you’d imagined: medium height, brown hair, and pale skin that looked sallow in the harsh lighting. His features were surprisingly soft, as was his voice when he spoke.

“I suppose you’re curious where you are.”

“Not really.” You hugged yourself, pulling in your jacket tighter around your shoulders as you sized him up. “I want to go home.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He had the audacity to smile at you, and yet, it wasn’t mean or cruel. It was almost sad. “But you cannot go home just yet. Perhaps, in time. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No. And I don’t care.” Another lie, but you weren’t going to give him what he wanted, which right now seemed to be your attention.

He stared for a long moment, so long sweat trickled down the back of your neck despite the chill. And then he opened his mouth and began to speak. He listed off your full name, your address, your place of work. Next, he gave your mother’s name and her address. And then your sister’s—

“All right, stop!” you choked out past the horror in your throat. “You made your point!”

“I’m not sure I have,” he continued just as calmly as before. “Nor do I think you understand your circumstances. You believe I have brought you here to harm you. This is the opposite of what I want. In fact, my goal will set you free.”

He walked forward until he was only a couple of feet from the bars, his eyes lingering on your face with a dark sort of intensity.

“Set you free from Sergeant Barnes’ control.”

Air was trapped in your lungs as you tried to fight down the ball of panic curled in your chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice weaker than you’d intended it to be.

“You do. I have been watching you for weeks, courtesy of our… mutual friend.”

He could only mean the _Alp._ The thought of the demon stalking you all the way to your mom’s house, watching as you and Bucky spent time together…

Bile burned in your throat, threatening to choke you on it.

“I admit, with the sorcerers aware of your existence, not to mention Sergeant Barnes’ possessive attention, I had to wait longer than I would have liked. You see…” The man moved beyond the edges of your cell and returned with a chair. Unlike everything else here, it looked modern, a fabric and metal folding chair.

He sat down in it and faced you, his hands folded politely in his lap.

“I know about the demon pact. I know you’re bonded to Sergeant Barnes, forced to be drained like some sort of… milk cow. It must be truly degrading to be used in such a way. Humiliating to be the slave of a beast.”

He leaned forward, his brown eyes darker in the shadows.

“But I can free you from this terrible bond. All you have to do… is send out a cry for help.”

A cry for help? What could that possibly mean? Even if you understand what this lunatic wanted, you weren’t going to help him do _anything_ to Bucky.

So you said nothing. You simply met his gaze and waited him out.

He leaned back in his chair, planting both feet firmly on the ground as he smoothed out the legs of his jeans.

“That’s all right. Your distress will no doubt be heard loud and clear across your bond. It will only be a matter of time before Sergeant Barnes takes the bait, and he will soon be in my possession. And then, when he is bound to me, you will be freed.”

He rose to his feet and picked up the chair, snapping the chair shut.

_“What?”_

You were off the bench and at the bars, slightly rattling them in your fists as he turned his back to you.

“You can’t!” you shouted, voice echoing off the enclosed space.

“I assure you, I can and I will.”

“No.” You shook your head, blinking angrily as your eyes burned. “Bucky would rather die than let HYDRA take him again.”

The man hesitated. He half-turned toward you, his expression curious.

“I am not HYDRA. But I suspect you are right, and I find it quite interesting you are even aware of their significance. Sergeant Barnes… has shared much with you? Perhaps, even has a misguided sense of affection for you?”

His eyes narrowed.

“And you for him?”

You snapped your mouth shut and glared. His lips turned upwards at the corners.

“You will find I am a reasonable man. Once Sergeant Barnes is mine, I will allow you to stay and sate his feeding habits. It is not one I am interested in partaking in myself.” He gave a careless sort of shrug. “But if you decline, I will return you to your home, unharmed. There are, after all, plenty of men and woman who will be willing to quench Sergeant Barnes’ appetite. For the right price.”

You banged your palm against the iron bars, not even wincing as the slap stung your hand. The man’s smile, though muted, was satisfied, and he left through the wooden door, the scrape of a bolt sliding into place from the other side.

Returning to your previous position on the bench, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. Bucky forced to feed from strangers against his will, forced to be the monster he’d fought so hard to leave behind.

But that wouldn’t happen. That was the irony of all of this. Bucky’s decision, the one you had hated so much these past few days, was the one thing that was going to save his life.

This man didn’t know Bucky was frozen. He didn’t know your bond was muted, and Bucky wouldn’t come no matter what happened to you. He was safe in New York, frozen in his cryo-chamber and unaware you were missing.

You were grateful beyond measure that he was safe. But when the man realized Bucky wasn’t coming…

…where did that leave you?


	40. Fetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your captor reveals what he wants with Bucky, and with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your amazing comments. If you hadn't guessed who her captive was yet, you will this round.
> 
> And in case anyone doesn't know, I borrowed the Alp's teleportation abilities from X-Men, specifically Azazel and Nightcrawler. They teleport by moving through the "Brimstone Dimension" which I like to think of is the same as the demon realm. So that's why she caught a glimpse of it while they were teleporting. I don't really explain that ever, and it's not important to the story, so I just wanted to throw that interesting tidbit here.
> 
> Now onward to the really terrible stuff :') Dialogue for the film scene was taken directly from [The Downward Spiral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200594/chapters/21455924#workskin), the inspiration for this story.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Witnessing past noncon (mildly graphic), psychological torture, isolation, captivity

Fear was a constant in the semi-darkness. Despite the man’s words that he would eventually let you go, you didn’t trust him an ounce. You remained hypervigilant, poised on the edge of flight, though you were more than ready to fight for your escape. It turned out, bond active or not, the thought of Bucky being used and enslaved was enough to move you to violence.

But between the dizzying seesaw of fear and anger, you were crushed with a deep sadness. You were worried about your mom noticing your absence. You worried about Monster being left alone, even though he was no ordinary cat and could fend for himself.

Most of all, you missed Bucky. You were grateful he was safe, even though hours before you’d been resentful of his situation. It had been a blessing in disguise, because no matter what he was out of reach of this madman.

But it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him terribly, and that you didn’t wish someone would hurry up and find you, wherever you were.

As you lay on the stone bench, you continually touched the marks on the wall, a reminder that Bucky had been there. It made you feel less alone, but it did nothing to ease the ache in your chest. You’d caught a glimpse of his life under HYDRA’s control, and you didn’t want to think about the things that might have occurred in this very cell.

You had time. Too much of it. Enough to play back the memories of the last three months and how they led you to this moment.

Bucky had been so reticent at the beginning. Distant, aloof and impenetrable wall you couldn’t climb. But you’d caught moments, glimpses past the armor into the man inside. Despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d been as lonely as you were. It had taken so long for him to let you past his walls, and it had been so worth it. Even the moments that would leave their scars, the memories that kept you up at night, it had been bearable with Bucky there.

Now, all you had was yourself. Alone in a prison that smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. At least… that’s what you thought.

You very carefully turned your head, trying to catch the thing you’d spotted earlier in the corner of the room. A flash of green, like the slitted pupils of a cat reflecting the harsh light from the single bulb overhead.

Heart leaping, you sat up and faced the darkness, about to call out Monster’s name… but then you shut your mouth. They were the wrong shade of green, and they were too high off the ground.

Not to mention Monster would never hide from you. No… this was something different. A second set of sickly green eyes you recognized.

“Did he tell you to watch me?” you asked, voice cracking painfully. You cleared it, and nudged the water pitcher with your sock-covered toe. “Make sure I don’t drown myself in this?”

The _Alp_ didn’t respond except to blink its reflective eyes, not unlike the way Monster would when he was listening to you ramble on about your long day at work.

You frowned and chewed on the inside of your cheek. What did you know about this demon? You had assumed it was the same one that had attacked you on Halloween night, but Bucky had killed it, hadn’t he? Then again, you knew from experience that death wasn’t quite so permanent for demons.

Same demon or not, this one had abducted you at the man’s command. That much was true. And what you had also managed to recall just before you’d slipped into unconsciousness was the pained howls of the _Alp_ being punished.

So, in conclusion, it was possible you had more in common with the _Alp_ than you’d first realized. And from the way the man had been talking about wanting to enslave Bucky, it wasn’t a stretch to think this demon wasn’t a willing participant.

Okay. You could work with that.

“I don’t blame you for abducting me,” you said. “Maybe you didn’t even want to, but he made you. You didn’t have a choice.”

The demon said nothing, but it was no longer blinking.

You lowered your voice to a soft, understanding level, hoping the _Alp_ would realize you weren’t the enemy.

“I know he hurt you. Punished you. Probably not for the first time, right?”

No response, but that was all right. The demon only had to listen.

“I can help you,” you whispered, leaning toward the bars. “There are sorcerers in New York, powerful ones who know all about demonic magic. They could free you from this man, or at least protect you. You could be free. We _both_ could be free.”

You took a deep breath, putting all your sincerity into your words.

“All you have to do is get me out of there. Take me back. We could go to the Sanctum together, and—“

The demon finally reacted, or rather, it made a low, saddened noise that sounded suspiciously like a _no._ And then it vanished with a popping sound, black tendrils of smoke curling in the air where it had been, and then disappearing and leaving the faint but pungent scent of sulfur.

Sighing, you sat back against the wall and tried not to let the discouragement or the cold get to you. Your captor had slipped you a blanket between the bars, but it provided little warmth, metaphorical or otherwise.

You only had to hope you could survive long enough, either to be rescued or to escape. One thing was for certain: it would only be a matter of time until your abductor realized Bucky wasn’t coming.

* * *

It became a waiting game, one neither of you were going to win.

Time flowed in unpredictable lurches, but you could give a rough estimate from how often the man came back to the room with a pitcher of water and a tray of food. It was clearly prepackaged, maybe even from some kind of military ration, but you still ate it because you needed the energy and he wasn’t going to poison you. Not if he wanted Bucky to be caught in a trap with living bait.

If the man was feeding you three meals a day, then you’d been down here for a day and a half already. You would be missed by now. Strange would be searching for you, and while you didn’t know who this man was, you knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against the head sorcerer.

Or so you thought. On his eighth visit, he returned to the room and put down the folded chair. There was something in his hands. A book. Red, with a black pentagram on the cover.

Horror shot through your mind. You remembered that book: it had belonged to the Russian officer who had once enslaved Bucky. The Colonel. He’d been a high-ranking member of HYDRA, so how had this man gotten ahold of it?

“From your expression, you recognize this tome. But do you know what it is?”

The man, whose name you still didn’t know because he refused to give it to you, watched you with a patient smile. Almost as if you were a child he was teaching at his knee.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it was a testament to your isolation that you were talking to him at all. But after being trapped in the semi-darkness, cold and alone, you were willing to talk to anyone. Even him.

“I do not know the book’s name,” he said, turning it over reverently in his hands. You noticed a thin, gold wedding band on one finger. He was _married?_ “But I know its purpose. It’s an instruction manual, of sorts. A guide in all things demonic. It predates HYDRA, a stolen relic as many things were, and one must have proficient knowledge in Latin to read it.”

His voice was faint, far away as he mused, “A sacred text, written in a dead language, coveted by a doomed cult. There is a lesson to be learned there, I think.”

You let the man speak, the more he did the better it was for you. The last thing you wanted was for the effects of isolation to make you reveal something you shouldn’t.

“With this book, you will be freed.” He leaned forward, his soft voice taking on an eager quality. “Sergeant Barnes will no longer hold sway over you, but that’s not all I offer. With a new master, I can protect him from HYDRA, whatever little of them is left. Or I can protect him from the next group which attempts to use demons. There will always be men who lust for power wherever it resides, and your demon has quite a lot of it.”

You said nothing, resentful that he wasn’t wrong about Bucky in this regard.

“It was quite a journey to find the latest owner of this book,” he continued, apparently not discouraged by your lack of interaction. “It was in the hands of Colonel Vasily Karpov: Sergeant Barnes’ last master. He was in the Russian Armed Forces and one of HYDRA’s top men. Do you know where I found him?”

The man sneered distastefully.

“Cleveland.”

He looked down at the book and slowly shook his head.

“The man who enslaved and humiliated the demon you wish to protect was living not too far from your own home. I’m the one who found Karpov. _I’m _the one who killed him. Don’t you see? We are allies in this.”

A noise finally escaped you. A dismissive snort.

“You want to make Bucky your slave, and you have the nerve to think… what, that you’re his friend?”

“A friend? No. One does not make friends with a weapon.”

You looked away, grimacing in disgust.

“How are you any better than HYDRA?” you growled out.

“Because I will put Sergeant Barnes to a nobler purpose. He will not be used for cruel or evil intentions.”

“So you admit, you would use him.”

It was a terrible idea to engage with his dangerous man, to nurse his delusions, but you couldn’t stop yourself from letting him antagonize you, either.

He gave you a pitying look.

“Sergeant Barnes has been used his entire life, and the US Government was his first master. Drafted into the army, trained to be a sniper, he killed Nazis without compunction. Your sergeant has always been a killer; HYDRA simply unleashed him on their enemies. And I will unleash him onto mine.”

You opened your mouth, the urge to spit venom on the tip of your tongue… and then you shut it. Intentionally or not, he was revealing quite a lot of information, such as what he really wanted with Bucky.

“What kind of enemies?” you asked, tone carefully even. But the man merely stared at you, gave a small smile, and stood from his chair.

“I estimate that Sergeant Barnes should be here soon,” he said. “A demon master without its slave is vulnerable, and if the human inside him still exists and has compassion for you… then he will come even swifter.

“In the meantime…”

He approached the projector in the corner, and your stomach clenched, even as you weren’t sure why. His next words confirmed your instincts were right.

“I have something that will hopefully enlighten you.”

The man flicked a switch and the clicking of the old projector accompanied a square of light cast onto the wall. Distorted images from empty bits of film bubbled up onto the screen until it formed into a coherent picture. An image of the very room you were in, though the camera was facing toward the cell you currently occupied.

The image showed a horrific scene. A ring of men were surrounding someone, their boots and batons striking his curled body. You were sure the man must be dead after a beating like that, but once they stopped and backed away, the bruises and abrasions faded away… and your stomach sank as the man propped himself up.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His muscles were much leaner and less bulky, his face rounder and younger, his hair cut short. He was almost entirely human except for the demonic left arm and a smaller version of his current tail. The wings, the horns, his clawed feet and tapered ears—none of those existed yet.

_“I can do this all day,”_ Bucky said, giving a smile stained red. He was entirely naked, stripped of his clothing, but he showed no signs of intimidation. Even through the tinny quality of the audio you recognized that stubborn tone of voice, and your heart ached at hearing him again, especially in such a dire situation.

_“Good, Mister Barnes,”_ a voice responded from out of frame. His accent was heavily Russian, but he he spoke in English. _“Because I am curious as to how much punishment your body can take before it runs out of its stored energy.”_

Bucky cursed, and the man behind him laid him flat on the ground with a kick to his spine. Bucky wheezed and curled into a ball again as the men continued to beat him.

You were sure he was going to die. You knew he wouldn’t, but every instinct in you screamed to stop something had had happened over seventy years ago.

The man on the film was speaking as if documenting an experiment, noting Bucky’s healing ability as it slowed, leaving his wounds open and painful-looking.

_“If you want to learn about demons,”_ Bucky cut him off with a snarl, _“you can go to Hell.”_

Pride surged in your chest. Bucky was a fighter, he would never give up—

The same man who had kicked him in the back now struck the side of Bucky’s head with a baton, and he collapsed hard. Bucky groaned on the ground, his claws digging into the concrete. It took you a moment to realize he wasn’t groaning from pain.

_“Sufficient injury past the point of healing appears to drive the subject into heat,”_ the man behind the camera observed. _“Note the expanded pupils giving the appearance of solid black eyes. Does pain turn you on now, Sergeant?”_

Bucky didn’t answer. He only eyed the circle of men as they drew closer, and there was something other than wariness in his gaze.

“Turn it off,” you said, voice small and laden with horror. You didn’t want to watch. Didn’t want to see. You’d witnessed enough of Bucky’s humiliation without his consent. It wasn’t _right._

“Not yet,” the man said. You couldn’t see his face, covered in shadow as he watched you watch the film. “Not until you truly understand.”

_“And when the subject is in the throes of heat,”_ the cameraman continued, crackling from the old audio, _“he produces pheromones that have a drastic effect on men near him.”_

Bucky remained silent, glaring up at the men pulling closer. They rubbed themselves obscenely through their pants, clearly affected by the pheromones, but you doubted those pieces of shit needed much encouragement in that regard.

_“Perhaps these fine men will assist you with what you need, if you ask them nicely, Sergeant.”_

You could see it in Bucky’s eyes. How hard he fought, to resist the urges pulsing through him, and you knew the moment when he gave into them.

Bucky lurched to his knees, grabbed onto the nearest HYDRA soldier, and ripped open his pants.

You shut your eyes tight and turned your head away. If this bastard wanted you to watch, he’d have to force you to do that himself.

But he didn’t come into your cell and force you to watch, and unfortunately, you could still hear the sounds all too clearly. The heated grunts, the obscene wet noises that were uncannily familiar, in a way. You considered covering your ears, but leaving more of your senses blind with your captor wouldn’t be wise, either.

So you opened your eyes and stared at the floor, praying it would be over soon.

It wasn’t. The same man who was filming this torture, who seemed to be the man in charge, taunted Bucky. Mocked him that he wanted to be fucked by HYDRA soldiers until he was senseless.

He was their prisoner, helpless in so many ways, and still this man, whoever he was, chose to be even more cruel than he had to be.

_“Who are you thinking of, Sergeant?”_ he eventually asked. _“Your dear Captain, perhaps?”_

You curled your hands next to your face, nearly covering your ears. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you shouldn’t!

There was an awful chuckle of laughter at however Bucky had reacted.

_“You do hunger for your Captain?”_ the man continued. _“Did he know what you were? Did he debase himself with you?”_

You didn’t expect Bucky to answer; you’d seen him caught in the middle of a heat firsthand, and experienced something similar yourself and knew how difficult it was to think, let alone talk.

But he still managed to growl out, _“F-fuck you… Lukin. Ste-Captain Rogers… _never_…”_

_“Perhaps we will send him a copy of this film: of you reduced to HYDRA’s whore,”_ the man called Lukin said, a sneer in his voice. _“Do you think he would come for you knowing the things you think about him?”_

Bucky’s voice was flat, defeated when he finally answered.

_“No.”_

The rapid clicking of the projector slowed to a crawl until it went silent.

“Do you see now?” your captor asked, his soft voice floating to you from the darkness. “Do you understand what I would be shielding him from? With Sergeant Barnes under my power, he will never suffer from such humiliation again.”

You said nothing and stared resolutely at the stone floor just before the bars. It gave you a decent peripheral view of the room without having to actually look at the man. You despised him. _Hated _him. More for him using Bucky’s pain to manipulate you than because of your own abduction.

“I won’t help you,” you finally answered, flat but final.

He sighed, taking the reel of film from the projector.

“You will,” he eventually said. “How uncomfortable you are in the process is up to you.”

The swing of the wooden door on its hinges left you in unbroken silence, but in that silence, you could still hear the terrible echoes of sharp gasps and pained whimpers.


	41. Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your captor begins to grow impatient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of your comments so much, thank you so much to every single one of you <3
> 
> Chapter warnings: Fear, mild horror

You knew you had to stay as healthy and strong as possible, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to eat much after that. Whenever the man returned, he stared at your untouched meals and said nothing. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t matter because Bucky would arrive soon.

But the man realized something was wrong when, according to your own tally marks, the third day had passed. The loud noise of the wooden door banging open woke you from your fitful sleep, and you raised your head to find the man standing before your cell.

You grabbed the blanket around you and pulled back as far as you could. He wasn’t particularly large in height or weight, but the dark way he glared at you made the back of your neck prickle.

“Call him.”

“What?”

“Sergeant Barnes.” His voice was still soft, but it held an unmistakable warning. “Your bond allows you to alert him when you are in danger. Send out your distress to him. Call him.”

You returned his frown, making sure it was meaner than his.

“No.”

He stared at you for such a long moment, you shifted uncomfortably.

“If you don’t, you’ll die. That mark on your shoulder will end your life if you do not fulfill your end of the bargain.”

Your hand cupped your shoulder as if to protect yourself from his words.

“Yeah, I know how it works,” you snapped. “I’m still not going to help you.”

Instead of making him angrier, the man peered at you closer, a glint of curiosity in his eye.

“Your intentions shouldn’t matter; Sergeant Barnes should be drawn to you on an irresistible tether. So… why has he yet to arrive?”

You met his eye unwavering and said, “I don’t know.”

You couldn’t tell if he bought the lie or not. He only continued to appraise you as if you were a mild nuisance.

“Perhaps he needs a little persuasion.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A puff of black smoke _poofed_ into existence, clearing to reveal the _Alp_ standing hunched and timid at his side.

The man stared straight at you as he commanded his demon.

_“Feed.”_

Your heart leapt up your throat, and you scrambled back against the wall as the_ Alp_ stepped forward. It seemed to step _into_ the shadows and slipped between the bars, which should have been impossible, but there it was, in your cell, glowing green eyes so bright they case a light in your dim cell.

“No, no, no, stay back!”

The man ignored your pleas and turned, walking out of the room and closing the wooden door with a resounding_ thud_.

The demon also ignored your warnings and advanced on you, and you threw up your hands, stuttering in your panic as you cried, “Wait, wait! He’s gone, just wait a second! Can we talk first? _Please?”_

The_ Alp_ paused, tilting its head as it gazed down at you. It seemed mouthless and noseless when it had its face closed like this, but it was still absolutely terrifying to look at.

And then you looked closer, noting more details from the short distance. There was a telltale pentagram carved into one of its shoulders, but there was something else. It had looked… different when you’d seen it in your bedroom Halloween night. It had seemed larger, healthier, with more body mass. Now with the way its dark furred skin was pulled taut over what seemed to be bones, it seemed almost… starved.

“Look,” you said, trying to catch your breath. “If this guy gets what he wants, I doubt either of us are going to make it out alive. You understand that, right?”

The demon said nothing, but he didn’t launch his teeth-mouth-face at you either.

“I’ll… I’ll let you feed on me. You look like you could use it.” You winced, but the situation was desperate enough that you were willing to bargain. “Not that you have a choice, right? You try to disobey, it hurts. Right there, on that mark. I know from experience what that’s like.”

It took a step toward you and you lifted your hands as if to hold him back for just one more minute.

“I’m-I’m going to lie down now, okay? You don’t have to-to paralyze me. I promise I won’t move.”

You were terrified, trembling, every nerve in your body screaming to run because there was a big predator only a few inches away, one that was quite literally going to use you as a meal.

It waited, glowing eyes watching, so you hastily laid flat against the stone bench, trying not to shudder in fear. It shouldn’t hurt, if what you remembered was correct, or at least there wouldn’t be lasting harm, but _holy shit_ waiting to be fed on by a giant monster-parasite wasn’t exactly something you could talk yourself through.

As the demon loomed over you, you spoke, voice slightly trembling but clear.

“Go to New York. Find the Sanctum. Tell Doctor Strange where I am. Do you understand? He can help you too; he’ll find a way to free you from this asshole.”

The demon tilted its head as if pondering your words, and then the petals of its mouth opened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. You shut your eyes tight, using every ounce of strain you had not to turn away. Or scream.

A puff of warm, sweet air washed over your face, and you instantly relaxed, muscles going slack and limbs becoming boneless. There were points of pressure around your face, from the teeth was your guess, but they didn’t hurt like you thought they would. The struggle to stay awake was quickly conquered; heavy drowsiness flooded your limbs as you slipped down into the darkness.

_“Should have figured you’d get into trouble.”_

You opened your eyes, blinking in confusion at the familiar room and the warmth encircling your waist. You turned your head to find Bucky staring back at you, a half-smile brightening his face.

“How did we get here?” You looked back to search your childhood bedroom for an answer but found none.

“Hello to you, too.” He chuckled, turning your face toward him and brushing the hair out of your eyes. “Thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“I am! I’m just… really confused.”

Your bedroom looked exactly the same as when you’d left it weeks ago, but the room was dim, and through the curtains it seemed to be twilight. You turned back to Bucky, your questions arrested as you took in his face. He seemed so real. Was this truly a dream?

“It is,” he said, answering your unasked question. “But that’s all right, isn’t it? It still feels nice. Feels real.”

It did, but… there was something you had to tell Bucky, you were sure of it. Something extremely important, balanced on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn’t remember, and it made you suck in a breath in frustration.

“Hey, now. What’s with the look?” He pulled you closer, planting a kiss on her head as he stroked your back. He was wearing the dark windbreaker and jeans that you loved, one wing draped over you while his tail was wrapped securely around your knee. It was familiar, comforting, and unfortunately, distracting.

“Bucky.” You frowned, trying to search your mind, but it was filled with a thick fog. “Something’s wrong.”

He didn’t say anything but continued to pet you, lulling you into the sense of security and safety you craved so badly. You buried your face into his jacket, gripping him tightly, hoping if you held on tight enough it would chase away the fear.

“Why can’t I feel you?” you asked in a choked whisper. “Something_ is_ wrong. I can’t find you, and I’m scared. I don’t know where you are.”

“I’m right here,” he said, soft. “I’m always right here.”

“You’re not.” You shook your head, eyes stinging as you were confident in your words. “Not this time.”

He pulled you back far enough to meet your eye, carefully stroking one cheek with his armored claw.

“I will be. You just have to hold on a little while longer.” His eyes were so blue, so gentle, that it hurt to look at. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You would try. You would do anything he asked, but you were so scared and alone and _cold._ A kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made you forget what it felt like to be warm.

“I know.” He bent his head closer, the breath that wasn’t really there ghosting across your face. “It won’t last forever. Be brave.”

His lips touched yours, chastely at first, and then he deepened the kiss into an all-consuming fire that burned away the chill.

You tangled your hands in his hair, tried to wrap yourself around him, but suddenly you were holding on to air, the pressure against your lips vanishing and you opened your eyes to darkness.

No, not darkness. The dreary light of a cell. You sat up, gasping as your tired muscles were forced to move. You were uncomfortable, your clothes tacky with cold sweat, and your head pounded in time with your heart.

But you were awake; you knew that for sure this time. Only reality could feel so barren of warmth and hope.

You pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped the blanket around your shoulders. To keep the despair at bay, you recalled the dream. How loved and safe you felt, wrapped in Bucky’s embrace. It had been so wonderful, a breath of oxygen after suffocating in cold, dark waters.

And there was something else, a tidbit of information you remembered from your initial research into demons. The _Alpen_ usually left nightmares in their wake. This one had left a dream of the one person you wanted to see most.

Burying your face into your legs, you allowed the small kernel of hope to blossom in your chest. If you were interpreting the demon’s actions correctly, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

You might have an ally.


	42. Incite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your captor loses patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but intense chapter. I hope you enjoy :)))
> 
> Some dialogue taken from CACW. The concept of the "athame" was taken from Arania's demon!Bucky series.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Angst, brief but intense torture

It was the beginning of the fourth day when your captor spoke with you again. The_ Alp_ had been delivering your meals and exchanging your buckets lately, so you’ve been without conversation and another human presence for a full day.

His appearance was not comforting. He was unshaven with hollow bags around his eyes, his lips chapped and his expression thin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

_Good,_ you thought with no amount of sympathy. _I hope you’re sleeping on a bed of nails._

He dragged the folding chair in front of the bars and sat down, staring at his hands for a moment before speaking. When he did, the words were heavy and drawn.

“My name… is Helmut Zemo.”

You watched him carefully. Learning the name of your captor wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Why reveal it now?

“I am formally an officer of the Sokovian Armed Forces. I was there, when the Ultron army attacked my country, and I was called upon to defend it. I did so with pride and determination.” He glanced down, voice flat as if he was recounting a report. “I lived in Novi Grad with my wife and son. It wasn’t safe for them, so I took them to stay with my father. It should have been safe.”

You digested what he said; it made sense and his accent did sound Sokovian now that you thought about it. But you couldn’t figure out _why _he was telling this all to you now, so you decided not to speak.

“My son was excited. He could see the Iron Man from the car window. I told my wife, ‘Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.’ When the dust cleared, and the screaming stopped, it took me two days until I found their bodies. My father… still holding my wife and son in his arms. And the Avengers?”

He shook his head, emotions creeping back into his voice.

“They went home.”

A hollow pit of dread grew in your chest.

“The irony of it is, I was a great believer of the Avengers, once. I always wished to see them, especially the Iron Man, and fighting alongside them should have been an honor. Instead, my dreams turned to nightmares and my hopes to ash.”

He met your eye and the rage in them was so palpable you drew back a fraction. It was the gaze of someone who had nothing left to lose and would stop at nothing for revenge.

“I knew I couldn’t kill them. More powerful men than me have tried. I have been seeking the solution for years. An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.”

You fought to suppress the chill that shot up your spine. It didn’t work.

“But how to do it? What weapon could I wield against the Avengers that would achieve such a goal? I turned to HYDRA for answers. I explored their old labs, the ones that were left untouched. There are many with evidence of their demonic experiments. And there was one in particular that caught my eye…”

Zemo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he peered at you.

“Do you know what secrets it held within it? A large stone archway. Ancient. Powered by a piece of the Tesseract itself. It could create portals to other realms. Or at least, that was its purpose. I had no intention of walking through something so untested. HYDRA’s idealism is more realized than its creations. But… I was able to summon a demon. I bound it to me. And it had a very, very interesting tale to tell about another demon in this world… along with the human he protected.”

His smirk was thin.

“I’m sure you can guess who the demon was referring to.”

The _Alp_ that Bucky had banished… had ended up in this lunatic’s hands. The odds had to have been astronomical, and either this man was lucky or you had the shittiest luck in existence.

As if he knew your thoughts, his eyes brightened with dark amusement.

“It was as if the universe was answering my prayer, and the opportunity to end the Avengers was within my grasp.”

Zemo rose to his feet, adjusted his brown coat, and looked you in the eye as he added:

“Who better to kill a Stark than a demon who has done it before?” He clicked his tongue. “Captain America’s own childhood friend.”

You jumped to your feet, prepared to scream every obscenity you knew at him, but then Zemo snapped his fingers. Black smoke _poofed _next to you and a pair of claws grabbed you by the shoulders.

Your shout was choked off as the _Alp_ teleported you out of the cell. Even the short distance was enough to disorient you, sulfur cloying in your nostrils as you stumbled and gagged.

“I did warn you,” Zemo said, the regret there surprisingly sincere. “Your cooperation will be given. How painful it will be is your choice.”

You were still coughing, unable to respond, and the demon dragged you beside its master as you left the room for the first time in days.

The hallways were made of cold stone, much like your cell, with bulbs spacing the ceiling every few feet. There was nothing to be heard except scuffling footsteps and ragged breathes as you tried to break out of the demon’s hold around your neck. You might as well have been trying to fight with a statue all the good it did you. The _Alp _was very strong despite its jutting bones.

The room where your journey ended was considerably large and cylindrical in shape. You glanced around in confusion, and it took you a minute to realize you were in some sort of silo. Metal catwalks spanned overhead, tied to them were strings of bulbs, but the thing that drew your eye were the glyphs. Covering the walls, the ceiling, and there was even a large, elaborate circle carved into the floor made out of chalk. It looked like an especially evil children’s game.

Your struggles increased when Zemo pointed toward your destination and the demon obeyed. Directly in the circle was a table with wrist and ankle restraints built into the metal.

Every primal instinct in your body screamed that this was a bad place, but the demon dragged you onto the table and fastened the shackles around your limbs without difficulty.

_“Don’t do this!”_

You didn’t exactly know what he was planning, but you desperately didn’t want to find out.

Once the demon stepped out of the circle, Zemo bent down, and you had to turn your head to see what he was doing. He had a piece of chalk and scribbed in the last piece of the circle.

You wanted to know what it meant, but when Zemo approached a lectern a few feet away from the table, you grew still. It was covered with black cloth, and what he lifted from the surface froze your heart. A dagger, curved and constructed of ink black metal, flashed sinisterly in the light. Glyphs were carved into the handle and blade, leaving a cold wash of fear across your skin.

“This blade is called an athame. It’s necessary to the process of creating and binding demons.” Zemo drew closer, studying the blade as he slowly turned it, appraising it with quiet reverence. “It’s a sort of demon-bane. No doubt you are feeling that affect right now. The part of you tied to a demon will respond very strongly to this blade. But don’t worry. The human part of you will not be harmed beyond a physical wound.”

He was right—just staring at the blade filled your stomach with a sick churning, and you flinched when he used the blade to rip open the shoulder seam of your jacket and shirt. You tried not to whimper, heart racing as your chest tightened in panic. He lowered the blade toward the unchanged, faded mark on your shoulder.

You could have sworn the faint lines of the pentagram turned red as the edge drew closer. Once the flat of the blade touched your skin, you couldn’t watch anything at all. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but scream as cold agony ripped through your body.

The blade was removed from your skin long enough for you to take a breath, and then it was applied again, sending you into another ripple of agony. You thought Zemo might have been talking to you, telling you this was a last resort to draw in Bucky short of killing you, but you were already dying. How could your body tolerate so much pain and still survive? How could your mind continue to function and not break as the agony lit up your nerves like a power grid?

And then, something changed. Through the electric pain that was so intense you thought you would catch fire, there was a shift. Small at first, like a leak that had sprung in a dam, and then all at once it released, flooding your body with warmth, a balm against the pain.

It felt so wonderful you actually laughed, throat raw from the screaming so the sound came out broken, but it was unmistakably a laugh.

Zemo pulled the blade away, but you ignored him. All of your thoughts were turned to the golden thread in your mind, no longer cold and dead, but alive and thrumming with… with… confusion, and then worry, and finally…

_Rage._

Your smile died. The emotions you were feeling weren’t your own.

“That’s enough for now,” came Zemo’s soft voice. He seemed pleased. “Your cooperation is appreciated.”

_“Nnn…”_ You struggled to speak, finding your control over your body was sluggish and distance. _“No…”_

His retreating footsteps were your only answer, leaving you tied to the table where you were helplessly bound.

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners. You should have fought harder. Should have resisted instead of letting that crack form within you.

Because of your carelessness… Bucky was awake.

And he was furious.


	43. Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *vibrates with excitement*
> 
> Chapter warnings: Heavy angst

You didn’t know how it was possible that Bucky was awake, but you knew it in your bones and in the steady thrumming of your shoulder.

The mark had been benign and latent for weeks, and it was making a considerable fuss now. From the stinging wetness on your shoulder and the glimpse of red when you turned the mark toward you made it obvious that it was bleeding too. Agitated, inflamed, and letting you know it was as awake as the demon it was bound to. Something you had wished for, but now filled you with dread. You couldn’t imagine what state of mind Bucky would be in when he awoke to find you in agony across your connection, and then being told you’d gone missing.

He was going to come for you, you had no doubt about that, but you wished he would stay away. Bucky was being lured into a trap, and you had no way of warning him.

Your head_ thunked_ back against the table. Zemo had left you here, and from your glance around the room you couldn’t see any signs of the _Alp_. You struggled at your restraints, but your muscles were fatigued, bones acting in the aftermath of your torture. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep.

Holding back as long as you could, you fidgeted with the metal shackles until your wrists and ankles twinged in sharp pain. You couldn’t wriggle out of them, not even with cold sweat dotting your skin. And as the minutes wore on, you could hardly keep your eyes open to the point of alarm.

You were cold all over but your sigil burned and throbbed, leaving you with two uncomfortable extremes. Giving in to the exhaustion, you closed your eyes and silently tried to send Bucky a message. A sign. Anything to make him stay away or at least warn him about what he was walking into.

The heavy weight of unconsciousness dragged you down as the fire in your shoulder continued to burn. You wondered if it would consume you. The thought should have jerked you awake, but you were so, _so_ tired…

Slowly, so gradually you didn’t notice for a while, warmth built in your chest and chased the chill away. It was comforting, safe… and very familiar.

_Hold on,_ it seemed to say. _I’m coming. Just hold on._

_Don’t,_ you tried to call back, even as it hurt so badly to say it. _Stay away…_

The warmth didn’t vanish, only increased, and you held onto it, terrified of slipping away just to wake up in your cell and find it was all a wishful dream.

But it didn’t disappear like a half-remembered dream. The warmth manifested into a physical sensation: hands on your arms, one rougher than the other but both carefully avoiding your shoulder before cupping your face.

“No, please, I can’t be too late. _I can’t.” _The voice was beautifully familiar, dark and husky with panic.

You wanted to answer, to shout, but you could barely move. Your limbs were heavy, your confused mind picturing you covered with frost as the warmth leeched from your bones.

Why were you so cold?

“Please, _please,_ open your eyes, sweetheart. You gotta open your eyes.”

That voice, so full of desperate fear when it should sound warm with amusement, teasing you with unmistakable fondness, was what finally forced you to open your eyes.

A blurry image was defined against the lightbulbs overhead, vaguely human except for the swept-back horns and the hovering, half-curled wings.

_“Bucky…”_

He retracted his hands from your face and you nearly cried out, _please, don’t go!_ But then you felt a tug at each ankle and wrist as Bucky shattered the chains of your manacles. Arms lifted you into a sitting position, and you groaned with relief as those arms, and a pair of wings, wrapped tightly around you.

“I’m so—_fuck,_ I’m so sorry.” He spoke into your hair, his embrace everywhere around you. Your cold, clammy skin was on fire but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything. You just wanted to remain like that forever, your sluggish thoughts almost slipping away from the urgent, desperate things you had to tell him.

As quickly as he’d hugged you, Bucky pulled back just enough to scan you, his wings still cradled across your back. His brows were deep with worry, his lips pulled into a flat line. His voice wavered.

“Did… did they do anything else to you? Any experiments? Rituals? Did they—did they try to turn you into a demon?”

You blinked slowly and shook your head, trying to clear it as much as tell him he was wrong. Your voice was little more than a rasp from all the screaming.

“Zemo.” You coughed into your hand, struggling to get the words out past your dry throat. You were dehydrated on top of everything else. “His name is Helmut Zemo.”

“It… it’s just one guy?” Bucky raised his head to look at the expansive missile silo. “Where’s the rest of HYDRA? Strange and Wong and the rest are searching the place, but there’s some kind of crazy wards keeping them out. Steve and I could get through, but we had to split up to find you—“

_That._ That was the thing you couldn’t focus on, that slid from your mind like oil.

“It’s a trap!” You tried to push him away from you, but you might as well have been shoving against a boulder. “He-he wants you! That’s why he took me, he just wants _you.”_

“Good,” Bucky growled, gently helping you down to the ground. You could barely stand, so he held on tight. “He’s got me. Fucker won’t live to regret it.”

Next to your feet was a large dark red puddle, and the mystery as to why you were so cold and sluggish was solved. You must have bled more than you realized.

But beyond that… was arguably something worse.

“Bucky…”

He followed your gaze to the white chalk line that encircled the entire table. Now that you could actually see what they were and you weren’t being strapped down to a table, you noted the complicated glyphs were drawn into the concentric rings. It didn’t take a wizard or a demon expert to know what they meant.

With a small noise of panic, you tried to rub at the lines of chalk with your socked heel, but the lines stayed firmly in place. Bucky grabbed you by the shoulders, carefully moving you between the table and his half-spread wings as he faced the room.

“Listen to me, and do exactly what I say.” His command was low, nearly a growl as he never took his eyes from the exits. “Steve and Strange should be here soon. You take this—“

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie, holding it backwards for you to grab.

“—and run as fast as you can.”

“What?” You stared up at him. Surely, you hadn’t heard right.

“I’m not walking out of here,” he said, lips pulled into a grimace. “You need to run, find any stairs you can that lead upward. We’re too deep for that radio signal to penetrate the stone, so you need to get close enough to the others to alert them to your position. You get to safety first—“

“—Bucky, _no!—“_

“—and then they can come back for me.” He turned his head to give you a piercing glare out of the side of his eye. “You do _not _want to be here right now.”

“I’m not leaving you!” You pushed yourself between his wings, face pressed in the middle of his shoulders blades. The familiar musky, earthy smell hit your nostrils, and you yearned for him so badly it hurt worse than the torture. “Not again!”

A shudder moved through him, and instead of yelling at you to leave, his tail wrapped around your waist and held you tightly to him.

“Not when I just got you back,” you whispered into his vest. It wasn’t one you’d seen him wear in person before, but you recognized it from the shared memory. The Winter Soldier tactical vest. If you’d had time, you’d wondered where he’d gotten a new one.

“I know.” His voice wavered. “I don’t want to be separated from you again either, but… this room. That table. I’ve been here before. There’s only one weapon that could make that kind of wound on a demon mark. And let me guess… he’s got a red book with a black pentagram on the cover.”

You held onto him tighter and nodded.

“Yes. He does.”

“Then he has everything he needs to bind me to him. He could make me do anything he wants and I would be helpless to stop him. He could… he could make me _kill_ you.”

Maybe it was because you were so physically close that you were able to feel Bucky’s horror and sorrow, curling in your chest as if it was your own.

“You gotta go, sweetheart,” he said again, voice strained almost to the point of cracking. “Get to safety. I’ve got enough firepower on me that if he gets stupid enough to show his face, I’ll shoot it off before he’ll get the chance. But you can’t… can’t be anywhere near me. He’ll just use you for leverage.”

The truth was bitter, but no less true for it. Zemo had used you once; he would use you again without hesitation. All he wanted was Bucky so he could take vengeance on superheroes who could handle this situation far better than you could. Bucky was right, and the best thing you could do for him was to find the wizards or Rogers.

“Okay,” you said. The adrenaline had helped, you were more alert now than you were before, but you still sounded weak. Felt weak too, and not just because of the blood loss. You were tired of being the source of Bucky’s anguish, and you wouldn’t cause him any more pain if you could help it. “I’ll find them.”

“I know you will.” He didn’t face you, couldn’t when he had to watch the entire room with his hands rested on the pistols strapped to his thighs, but he still gave you an encouraging squeeze of his tail. And then he let you go, folding his wings inwards to give you room to walk away.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, turning away from Bucky and stepping over that white line. Your hands shook around the radio, and your legs were boneless and without strength.

You weren’t sure you were going to make it to the end of the room, which was just as well, because you didn’t.

Black smoke popped into your vision, and before your brain could process was what was happening, dark furred arms grabbed you, spun you around, and laid razor sharp claws against your neck.

Bucky’s head whipped around and he let loose a terrifying roar. Wings spread, he leapt toward the _Alp_—and immediately hit an invisible surface. He was knocked backwards, hitting the table and making it strain where it was bolted to the floor.

You didn’t dare speak or move a muscle. The hand over your neck had a firm grip, and the tips of its talons lay directly over your pulse point. Bucky was trapped within the chalked circle, helpless to do anything more than growl menacingly at the demon that held you by the throat, his tail lashing back and forth like an angry cat.

An old speaker system crackled to life, Zemo’s voice echoing disturbingly around the cylindrical room.

“Sergeant Barnes, it is an honor,” he said, opening a viewing window from what appeared to be a control room. “Even if you did keep me waiting.”

Before he was done speaking, Bucky pulled out one of his pistols and fired, a bullet sparking across the glass dead center of where Zemo’s forehead would be.

The man clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

“Please, Sergeant. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets. Not even that arm of yours could put a dent in it. It’s no matter; I will find better uses for it.”

He peered at Bucky like a scientist would at a fascinating experiment. Your skin crawled unpleasantly.

“Now…” Zemo said, “disarm yourself of all your weapons and throw them outside the circle. You’re a smart man—you do still consider yourself a man, don’t you?—and I’m certain you know what will happen if you do not cooperate. But I will say it, anyway.”

Zemo’s gaze slid past Bucky and onto you.

“Refuse to follow my orders, and she dies.”

Bucky lifted his lips in a snarl but said nothing as he began to strip his weapons, of which he had many. Pistols, knives, even a combat grenade launcher and several small explosives you didn’t recognize as any kind of traditional grenade.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Zemo gave a ghost of a smile before shutting the viewing window. You only had a few seconds to act.

“Captain America and the sorcerers are here,” you said under your breath. Bucky, ears twitching as he turned his head to stare at you, furrowed his brows in confusion. But you weren’t talking to him. “You have to lead them here. You know if he…if he binds Bucky, he won’t keep you around for long. _Find Strange.”_

The _Alp_ made a noise, a rumbly one you didn’t understand, but Bucky’s gaze went wide. He opened his mouth but immediately closed it as Zemo’s footsteps preceded him.

He was carrying the red book in one hand, and the onyx blade in the other. Your stomach turned and you broke your rule not to move. Thankfully, the demon holding you didn’t let you cut yourself on his claws, but he did hold you tighter to still your struggles.

Bucky crouched on the ground, teeth bared as his tail twitched, wings half-unfurled as if about to pounce. But Zemo continued to walk forward, completely indifferent to the display of aggression. He stood outside of the circle, opened the book to a page marked with a colorful tab, and began to read aloud.

The words were Latin, or at least they sounded Latin, but there was a strange, musical quality to them. It made your skin want to crawl right off your body, but the effect it had on you was nothing compared to Bucky. He dropped fully onto his knees, hands raised towards his ears as if to cover them, and then they fell to the floor as if he didn’t have the strength to hold them up. He was trembling, panting, and terror resonated across your bond.

You shouted to be heard over the ritual, begging Zemo to stop, but he ignored you. Facing Bucky’s left side, Zemo brought the knife down and slashed a mark across one of the pentagram lines on his demonic arm. The knife cut through the plating like butter, and Bucky cried out through clenched teeth.

The pain exploded in your own mark, and you weren’t nearly as quiet as Bucky. The _Alp_ was having a difficult time holding you still—the same murderous fever haze came over you as it had in the Sanctum, and you clawed and bit at the demon to get to Bucky. It may have suffered a bite or a few scratches, but it still wouldn’t let you go.

Bucky was able to barely raise his head, only enough to make eye contact, his expression full of regret and sadness. That look of hopelessness fueled your rage, and you screamed wordlessly at the man who had Bucky on his knees.

Zemo was focused solely on his task, continuing the strange Latin as he cut into his own palm. Deep in your bones, you knew how wrong this was. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Slamming his hand down onto Bucky’s bleeding mark, agony exploded inside your shoulder. The pain ruptured through your whole body, filling your very being with fire and acid. The golden rope that connected you was burned to a cinder, but not entirely. Something of it remained, but you couldn’t focus on it long enough to figure out what it was.

Panting and trembling, you realized the _Alp_ was holding you up more than you were. Your world had been pulled out from under you, but all you could do was stare at Bucky.

He was disturbingly quiet and still, on his knees with his head bowed. Not even his tail, restless as it was, moved, lying on the ground like a dead thing. For a moment, you were terrified that’s exactly what he was.

And then Bucky slowly rose to his feet, his expression blank as he stared forward, blue eyes as warm as ice.

You’d seen this version of Bucky before. The air left your lungs as if you’d been punched in the gut.

Zemo walked in front of him, head tilted curiously.

“Солдат?” he softly asked.

"Я жду приказаний,” Bucky answered, voice gravel and entirely inhuman.

“Incredible,” Zemo breathed out in a reverent whisper. “With a rebinding, it seems you have taken on your old persona. The ritual should have given me your body, not your mind. HYDRA’s programming runs deeper than even I imagined.”

Something burned in the back of your throat, and when your stomach heaved, you leaned over and vomited. The noise drew Zemo’s attention.

“My offer still stands,” he said, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at you. You felt very small. “You may continue to be his food source, if you so choose. Unfortunately, this version of Sergeant Barnes will, most likely, no longer recognize you. I cannot guarantee there won’t be rough treatment, even with my commands.”

That certainly didn’t help the queasiness of your stomach, the absolute wrongness of the situation. The blank look on Bucky’s face and the emptiness in his eyes.

No, not entirely empty. Bucky assessed the room and each of its occupants with a cold, detached expression. When his icy gaze fell on you, there wasn’t even a flicker. No glance of warmth or love or even recognition. You were a stranger. No, worse, you were nothing to him.

“I hope he turns on you,” you said to Zemo while still meeting Bucky’s eye, voice low and filled with hate. “I hope he rips you to _fucking pieces.”_

Zemo gave a sardonic sort of smile.

“I suppose I have your answer, then. Let her go.”

The _Alp _released you, and you barely avoided the dirtied floor as you collapsed onto your legs. Bucky’s expression never changed, and when Zemo ordered, “Come, Soldat,” he turned to follow his new master without hesitation.

You reached out, desperate to stop them from leaving, when the large iron door burst open at the end of the room. In came Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, complete with his signature shield. His eyes widened when he spotted Bucky, and he didn’t hesitate to walk forward, incorrectly believing Zemo was the most immediate threat.

“Hold on, Buck, I’m coming!”

_“Rogers!”_ you screamed. “Don’t! It’s not Bucky!”

He came to a quick stop, immediately bringing up his shield before him, expression troubled.

“Buck? What’s going on?”

The Winter Soldier said nothing, not an ounce of recognition in his gaze. Zemo gave the tiniest smirk.

“Steve Rogers, how good it is to see you.” He turned to his newest demon slave. “Time to put your skills through their paces. Let’s see how you fare against the great Captain America.”

Like a hound let off its leash, Bucky strode forward, spread his wings, and launched himself at his best friend.


	44. Calamity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't give specific chapter warnings because it would spoil it. Just... brace yourselves. I mean that, truly. The entire fic has been leading up to this moment, so... take a deep breath. It's going to be okay.

Demonic claws striking vibranium metal reverberated painfully around the room, like a gong being struck directly next to your head. You couldn’t cover your ears because your hands were occupied with clutching your shirt, helpless to do nothing but watch as Rogers tried to fight off the Winter Soldier.

And he was losing. Each slash kept Rogers on the defensive, holding up his shield to ward off the next brutal attack. Bucky was ruthless and far faster than Rogers was equipped to handle.

It wasn’t long before Bucky managed to land some blows. Talons left trails of bleeding scarlet, whether from his hands or feet, and even his wings had managed to buffet Rogers more than once.

Bucky’s tail, fast as a whip, grabbed for something at Rogers’ hip. A pistol, yanked out of its holster and deposited into Bucky’s grip, he fired several shots at Rogers who barely managed to get his shield up in time. When the clip was emptied, Rogers bashed it out of Bucky’s hands, following it through with his first solid punch.

Bucky didn’t so much as stumble. Instead, he ripped Rogers’ shield out of his hands, threw a pointed, ridged elbow into his face, and sent him rolling backwards across the floor.

Zemo had remained quiet for the fight, but now he moved closer, a glittering hunger in his eyes.

“It seems you have met your match, Captain. And it turns out, even you can bleed. How nice to find a flaw.”

Rogers rose to his hands and knees, glaring up at Zemo as he wiped blood from his mouth. He gained his feet and held his hands into fists like a pugilist.

“I can do this all day,” he quipped, giving a bloodied smile that was all sharp and no humor. He looked exactly like Bucky had in the HYDRA torture video.

That’s what finally snapped you out of it and got you moving.

Bucky was also on the move, striding toward his friend like a hunter stalking prey, and then he delivered a savage kick to Rogers’ face.

Rogers crashed against the wall behind him, hitting it hard enough to slightly bounce off before collapsing onto his knees. He wasn’t going to win this, and from the pained expression, he knew it, too.

Bucky descended on him. You got there first.

Placing yourself squarely between them, you braced your hands in front of you as if to physically stop Bucky.

Surprisingly, he did, head slightly tilted like a curious animal.

“Bucky. Bucky, _please,_ listen to me.” Your hands shook but somehow your voice was steady. “I know you can hear me. I know, because I’ve been there, with you, in your head when you’re _him_. The Soldier. He’s just another part of you, Bucky. You’re still in there.”

He simply stood there, immobile as a stature except for his tail. It twitched, restless and agitated, different from its controlled, languid movements during the fight.

But he wasn’t moving. He was listening. There was a _chance._

“You can feel it, can’t you? Here.” You touched one hand to the middle of your chest. “Zemo tried to break the bond, but it’s there. Faint and dim, but I can feel it. You must feel it, too. Please, Bucky. _Fight him!”_

Tears flooded your vision and your throat burned.

“Come back to us.”

Eyes as cold as eyes didn’t so much as blink. If Bucky heard you, he gave no sign of it.

“You gotta get out of here,” Rogers said from behind you. He could barely speak, and a glance over your shoulder told you he was holding a particularly large gash across his stomach. “Go! I can take care of myself!”

You ignored him and faced the demon standing before you. You weren’t leaving Bucky to face his worst nightmare all alone. You weren’t leaving him to be someone’s pawn again. And you definitely weren’t leaving him so he could kill the only other person he loved.

All you could hope was that the _animus_ still tied you to Bucky, and that he wouldn’t harm the human he was bound to.

It was a huge gamble, but there were no other cards to play. Everything depended on whether you could reach Bucky. Not a human slave reaching out to its master.

_You_ needed Bucky.

“You belong to me, Barnes,” you whispered.

You somehow got your legs moving and walked forward until you were standing right in front of him.

“And I belong to you.”

Bucky said nothing, his eyes gaze on you in their entirety. Meanwhile, Zemo appraised you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Kill her.”

Bucky raised his demonic arm, claws extended. You didn’t move.

Even as your heart raced and your limbs trembled, you didn’t move.

The arm didn’t come down. Bucky stayed like that, poised to strike while you braced for the killing blow.

But his _eyes._ The icy blue searched your face, brows pulled into a confused line, and there was a faint glimmer of something within their depths.

He slowly lowered his arm.

“Sergeant, what are you doing?” Zemo glanced between you and Bucky, his expression darkening. “Obey my command! _Kill her!”_

Bucky’s ears twitched but his focus was completely on you, eyes narrowed and blinking, as if on the verge of remembering.

It was enough for hope to surge through your limbs, and you couldn’t help but give a small, timid smile.

Studying your expression, Bucky seemed dazed, his eyes widening, and his lips parted as he said your name, raw with roughness.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

Zemo clicked his tongue.

“Pity.”

You didn’t understand; Zemo sounded more annoyed than angry. Bucky also frowned, and began to turn to face the man who had enslaved him.

It was when Bucky turned just far enough that his left arm was no longer shielding you that Zemo pulled the pistol from his holster.

You didn’t hear the shots. You didn’t see the flash of a muzzle, either. But you were still knocked backwards by a brutal force ripping through your stomach, and then next thing you were looking at was the vaulted ceiling and the lights glittering above you.

They were oddly beautiful.

You expected the floor to be as cold as the table, but you were wrapped in something warm and strong. A familiar silhouette leaned over you, blocking out the lights with a pair of curved horns and brown hair, and you had an eerie case of déjà vu.

Had it all been a dream? A hallucination? Had you imagined the whole thing and was Bucky only now rescuing you?

No. It wasn’t a dream. Bucky’s face was etched in unimaginable horror. He gripped one hand tightly with his armored claws, the other pressed against your stomach. You could barely feel it, feel any of it, past the cold wetness, as if you’d tumbled into a frozen pond and you couldn’t get warm again.

You opened your mouth to say his name, but nothing came out. Bucky shook his head frantically, and looked somewhere over his right shoulder as he yelled for Rogers to _find the fucking sorcerers._

You tried once more, but only a gurgling noise came out. Your mouth filled with iron. It was getting harder to breathe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, _you’re gonna be okay—“_

He repeated the mantra but the tears in his eyes alarmed you. It was bad. It had to be for Bucky to look at you that way.

You tried to lift your head to look down, but Bucky told you not to, his large hand still pressed to your stomach as he pulled you close. He was so warm, his scent earthy and alive, but it wasn’t enough. The world was beginning to fade at the edges. You were so tired.

“No, no, don’t close your eyes, don’t—please, _please_ look at me.”

You wanted to obey him, if only to show him you were fine and he had nothing to cry about, but your eyelids were like iron weights.

Trapped in darkness, the cold numbness was winning, robbing you of your connection to Bucky. All that was left were the sounds of his muffled sobs. It was agony to listen to, but you couldn’t find him in the dark.

All that was left was the fading golden thread, and the slowing beat of your heart.

And then, that too, was gone.

* * *

You were immediately assailed by heat and stinging wind.

You shielded your face as you sat upright, drawing your shirt up to cover your mouth on instinct. The air was so dry and hot it hurt to breath, and when you opened your eyes, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

There was nothing beyond the endless dune of red.


	45. Missionary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky will do whatever it takes to get her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that the two main responses I got for last chapter were: "I'm not surprised you did this" and "I can't believe you've done this." And I loved every single one of them <3
> 
> Thank you all for sticking by me, and I hope you enjoy the last act of the fic where I slowly tie up all the loose ends I've left lying around. So... so very many of them *laughs in "oh no why do I do this to myself"*
> 
> Chapter warnings: Anger, grief, thoughts of violence, angst

Bucky paced like a wild animal, back and forth, tail lashing with each circuit he made. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t functioned much at all in the past few days, and he was always a heartbeat away from snapping like a wire pulled too taut.

He couldn’t go through the door he was pacing in front of, the demonic wards holding him at bay. It was just as well. Without them, he would have marched straight inside and ripped Helmut Zemo’s spine out his throat.

It wouldn’t have solved any of Bucky’s currents problems, but it would have improved his mood. And it might have distracted him for a few moments from the black hole currently residing within him. A negative space where the bond had been. Every moment that void was there, he wanted to tear out his own heart.

Maybe he’d still get the opportunity if they couldn’t find a way to bring her back. He’d end his own life for a fast one-way ticket to the demon realm if he had to, and there Bucky would stay until he found her.

And then… what? They’d be trapped there forever? Why didn’t that scare Bucky as much as the thought of being separated, with her being all alone in that place? He knew she was resourceful. She’d proven it by the fact they’d captured Zemo at all.

When the gun had gone off, Bucky had felt like he’d been the one shot, only it hurt so much worse because he actually knew what a bullet to the gut felt like. He’d barely made it in time to catch her as she fell, and he’d been in no state of mind to deal with Zemo after that. Steve had barely been conscious by the time Strange and the others had found them, so it wasn’t him who had caught the bastard.

No, it had been the _Alp_ itself that had stopped Zemo. Before the man had even gotten a chance to order his demon to teleport him away, it had used its paralysis aerosol on Zemo and knocked him into a peaceful sleep. And then it had vanished in a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving its master there to be collected by the sorcerers.

The thought made Bucky shake his head. Somehow, Bucky’s girl had managed to make a demon turn on its own master. Not once, but twice, if Bucky was including himself.

Leave it to her to befriend a demon and turn it to her side.

Leave it to her to give everything for Bucky, including her own life. And what had he done in the time since then except vacillate between rage and grief? Between shouting at Strange and standing by Steve’s healing bed like a mourner at a funeral, waiting for them to come up with a rescue mission.

The sorcerers had made little progress, and Bucky feared their only hope lie in the man that had murdered her.

Bucky would have gotten the answers out of Zemo himself, if only for the fact he couldn’t get his hands on him. The demons wards weren’t to keep Bucky out, they were to keep Zemo from calling his demon slave to teleport him away. No matter how had they’d tried, the sorcerers couldn’t break the demon bond. And no matter how much the _Alp_ might not want to, it wouldn’t be able to resist the call of its master, no matter how far away it was. Bucky had learned that lesson the hard way with his own escape attempts from HYDRA.

So now they were at an impasse. Zemo imprisoned but refusing to cooperate, and the sorcerers unable to get anything useful out of him but having no choice but to keep him locked up. Bucky hadn’t be surprised the sorcerers had failed to take away Zemo’s last Hail Mary. If they were capable of breaking demons bonds, they wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

The door opened, and Strange had to wave him off before Bucky accosted him with questions.

_“Well?”_ Bucky asked, impatient. “What did he say?”

“Still nothing helpful.” Strange glanced at Wong as he too strode toward the door. It shut with a heavy thud behind them, no doubt locked by all sorts of arcane spells. “It’s clear that Zemo doesn’t know how to work the demon gate with any expert knowledge and relied solely on the red book to achieve his goals.”

The circular stone archway they’d found in the basement of the Siberian compound, which Strange had named the “demon gate,” had remained inert no matter how the sorcerers tried to manipulate and power it. How Zemo had managed to summon the _Alp_ through it, but it wouldn’t respond to the sorcerers, left Bucky short-tempered and frustrated.

It was nothing compared to the guilt. The shame at being controlled, manipulated into almost killing Steve. He was still being tended to by the healers, and the only reason he wasn’t in a hospital was because Strange had insisted they take him to the Sanctum.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then Bucky’d nearly killed _her_. His worst nightmare being played out before his eyes, or it almost had. Through their tenuous bond she’d somehow broken through to him, and Bucky had managed to stay his hand when he’d never been able to do so before.

It had been… _freeing._ Liberating to disobey a direct command. To be ordered to hurt someone he loved and having the strength to resist.

And then Bucky had failed to save her anyway. She’d died, right there in his arms, her heart going silent the loudest thing he’d ever heard. As if that hadn’t shattered his world enough, she’d turned to ashes in his hands, the stink of sulfur and brimstone stinging his eyes as she slipped through his fingers.

In that moment, Bucky’s bond to Zemo had been severed. One of the apparent benefits of a demon having a human slave. She’d gone to Hell so Bucky could be free.

And all he’d managed to do with that freedom was _absolutely fuck-all._

Bucky’s fist flew, the jagged knuckles of his armored hand knocking a sizable chunk out of the stone wall.

Strange merely lifted his eyebrows. Wong frowned in disapproval. Bucky didn’t give a shit. They should have woken him as soon as she’d gone missing, but instead, he’d woken on his own, bursting through the cryo-chamber and shattering its door to pieces. He’d been so confused and enraged that the sorcerers had had to bind him with glowing ropes and wards until Bucky calmed down enough to explain she was being tortured, and he could lead them to exactly where.

So, yes. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was as much Strange’s fault as it was his, and the only reason he was even still tolerating the sorcerers is because they were her only chance of rescue.

If they could get the fucking gate to work, anyway. A big fucking _if._ Apparently, sorcerers could make portals on Earth without a problem, but crossing into other dimensions was even beyond Strange’s capability.

And yet, _she _had been able to do it as a ten year old child. Bucky had hoped, maybe, somehow, she would be able to summon that power within her once again and come back to him, but there had been no sign of any mysterious blue portals popping up on Earth.

So as pissed as he was, Bucky had to remain patient, and right now, he had to pay attention.

“I have an idea on how to power the gate,” Strange said, wearily eyeing the damaged wall before turning to Bucky. “We have more of HYDRA’s research that Zemo ever did, and I have no doubt we will be able to create a stable connection soon.”

_“Soon_ isn’t good enough,” Bucky snapped, struggling not to snarl at the sorcerer. “Every minute here is hours over there. Each day wasted is weeks she has to endure, alone, in a place humans were never meant to survive. We can’t—“

The lump in his throat forced him to silence. Bucky couldn’t say what he’d been thinking, and from Strange’s sympathetic expression, it didn’t need to be said.

They might already be too late.

Bucky still wanted to punch Strange in the face. If he cared so damned much, why hadn’t he kept a closer eye on her? Zemo may have been smart, hell, he was probably a genius to figure out how demon magic worked, but how had he managed to outsmart a whole sect of _sorcerers?_

“We will move as quickly as we can,” Strange said, indicating Bucky should follow him. “I don’t wish to waste any more time than you do.”

Bucky somehow doubted that, but he still followed after the head sorcerer. His tail twitched as they made their way deeper into the Sanctum, to the place Bucky had spent every waking moment when he hadn’t been by Steve’s side.

“I am aware of the time dilation in the demon realm,” Strange said as they walked down a spiraling set of stone steps, “but it might not be uniform or even linear. Your experience may differ from hers.”

If Strange thought that would be comforting news, he was wrong. Bucky didn’t need an overactive imagination to come up with whatever horrors she might be facing now. He certainly didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of… of finally making it to the demon realm and realizing hundreds of years had passed.

Bucky couldn’t… he _couldn’t_ think about it. He would lose his mind. Bucky would only let despair swallow him after he was a hundred percent sure that… that there was nothing left to hope for. That she was truly gone and wouldn’t be coming back.

That he would never get to see her again. To watch as her eyes brightened and that familiar mischievous grin tugged at her lips. To hold her in his arms while he buried his nose in her hair, filling his nostrils with her scent and—

Bucky shook his head and grit his teeth. He couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when they were closer to their goal, so he forced himself to focus on Strange’s words. Something about a power source needed to fuel the thing, and that Zemo must have hidden it away from the base because the sorcerers couldn’t sense it. Bucky honestly didn’t understand most of it, only that it would take an unnatural power source to get the gate running.

The underground lair, as he called it, left Bucky as awed as the first time he’d stepped food inside. The room was essentially a giant dome constructed of very large stones, but the most interesting aspect of the room was the glowing glyphs carved into the stones. The power thrummed under his skin and set his arm plates rigid as his tail flickered.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay the instrument that had been the focus of his frustration and anger over the past few days. A stone gateway, teleported here by great effort from the sorcerers. It was ancient, possibly constructed during the days of the Holy Roman Empire, or so Strange had rambled. Bucky was too fucking stressed to appreciate the mythical history lesson.

When the sorcerers working on the gateway turned to Strange and confirmed it couldn’t be powered by anything in their vaults, Bucky turned away, fists tightening, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. But before he could take even a single step, Strange laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Strange’s voice was gentle, and it was the only reason Bucky didn’t grab the hand on his shoulder and break it. “There’s one thing left to try. It’s not without danger and risk, but—“

“I’ll do it,” Bucky said immediately. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“I suspected you might say that.”

Strange’s smile was sad but accepting as he patted Bucky, and then let his hand drop. Bucky’s desire to strangle the man went down a few notches, and if this worked and he got her back, Bucky might even forgive him.

_Might._

Strange straightened his posture and faced the stone archway, held his hands in front of his chest in a manner that meant he was about to cast a spell, and he said, “Though I must warn you, tapping into the power of the Infinity Stones can be quite dangerous.”

With an intricate pull of his fingers, glowing patterns in the air emerged, and that’s when Bucky finally noticed the green light shining from Strange’s amulet. He’d vaguely wondered around the thing always around the sorcerer’s neck, and now Bucky had an answer as to what it was. Something otherworldly, deadly, and strong enough to compare with the power of the blue cube HYDRA had once wielded.

A deep thrumming filled the room, vibrating through the air and up the stones, the potential of something building made Bucky’s wings flair behind his back.

Then the glyphs along the demon gate began to glow, first green like the stone and then to a bright blue that made Bucky’s heart clench with fear. Strange blue lights often accompanied the demonic rituals HYDRA had conducted on him, but he swallowed down the panic and didn’t blink.

The charge in the air built higher and higher, until with a crackle of electricity, the empty space between the archway suddenly filled with light. It pulled outward to the edges, a border of blue around a watery image that sharpened into something Bucky recognized.

The demon realm.

“I can’t hold it forever!” Strange yelled, his hands still in the same position as he somehow, impossibly, held the gateway open using the green stone around his neck. “Get moving, Sergeant!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice.

With none of the hesitancy he’d shown the first time being confronted by a blue portal, Bucky flared his wings as he raced forward and gave one hard flap, lifting off and darting through the gateway like a missile launched from its tube.

The dry wind buffeted him from the other side and Bucky nearly nosedived into the red sand, but he managed to right himself and soar up into the air. The human side of him balked at the alien surroundings, but it was the demon part of him that Bucky needed now.

Orienting himself to the familiar magnetic fields of the planet, because in a sick way he’d been alive longer here than on Earth, and he knew this place as intimately as his home.

Turning in the direction of his territory, Bucky pushed his body as far as it would take him and flew faster than he ever had before.

_Hold on, sweetheart,_ he prayed to her, hoping he was heard. _I’m coming._


	46. Metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to find your way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say besides thank you everyone for your kind words and support and continued patience with this long ass story. Y'all are incredible.
> 
> Coming within the next two weeks: the official Branded™ playlist.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get _away_ from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was _pissed._

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the _horns_. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

_This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind._

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, _he,_ the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

_“Where is she!”_

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—_did you kill her?”_

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, _stop,_ it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

_Home._

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You _knew_ him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten _Bucky?_

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him _being here._

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “_We_ are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—_bluebluegreenblue_—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the _smells_. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

_It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—_

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten _so much?_ How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

_“No,” _he said, more firmly this time_._ “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.


	47. Tangential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to adjust to your new life, but it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: "Catgirl?!"
> 
> Y'all are too much sometimes. She's a *demon* catgirl, c'mon guys.
> 
> If you haven's seen on tumblr yet, from here on out I'm only updating on Wednesdays. Updating twice a week is just constant editing, and I have nothing left in me to actually write and finish the story, or work on all the other project I have for you guys.
> 
> Also x 2 if you haven't seen, I'm still trying not to be evicted and homeless and disabled during a pandemic. So I've got a lot on my plate and two updates a week is a little too much for me to do anymore. We're approaching the end of the story anyway, and I don't want to rush it, both in terms of writing it and getting through it too quickly. Y'all have about 8 chapters to go until the end, and I want you to savor it.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and sorry for the cliffhanger ;)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Angst, mild body horror

Bucky pulled you into his arms, and that’s where you stayed for the next several days. He only released you for bathroom breaks, and the first night when he tried to get you to sleep in his bed while he took the couch.

After he woke up to you crawling under his blanket to lie on top of him, Bucky gave up on trying to separate during sleep. You were thankful for that, because the night times were the worst. You held Bucky tight, that bone-deep fear of freezing in the night never quite going away even with your new fur.

Your features did not look any less jarring when you looked at them through the mirror rather than a flowing stream. You were less disturbing than a character in Cats, but only because you looked meaner. With sharp needle teeth and retractable claws, you were so careful of them around Bucky, even with his healing abilities. The bite you’d given him had already vanished, but your guilt was still very much present.

On good days, you could tolerate visitors. It was usually Wong who came, though sometimes it would be other wizards you didn’t recognize. They examined you only enough to determine that your time in the demon realm wasn’t going to kill you, as far as they could tell, but they had no idea if your demonic changes were permanent or temporary.

On good days, you would sit in one of the clock faces and soak up the sun, looking out at the sun-covered city and marveling at the lights at night.

On good days, Bucky was able to touch you. Everything about your body made you self-conscious and twitchy, but he was gentle and kind. Never angry or frustrated at your slow progress. He, above everyone else, understood how much patience was needed while you recovered from your time in the demon realm, not to mention the new changes to your body.

Bad days… Bad days were hard. They involved hiding, usually under the bed or up in the top floor among the rafters. Bucky was worried you’d fall, but once he saw how swift and graceful you were running along the beams, he stopped looking like he was on the verge of a heart attack.

On bad days, Bucky couldn’t touch you at all, and it was a blessing he didn’t have to. The bond was permanently disconnected, and you no longer had to be feed him or be fed upon. Bucky still had to obtain the energy that kept the demon part of him alive, but he supplemented with the potions the wizards gave him. You could smell the foul concoction even from across the loft, and it set your fur puffed up and on edge.

On bad days, you couldn’t tolerate Steve being anywhere in the loft. He’d come to visit after his recovery, and you were relieved to know there was no permanent damage from the Winter Soldier’s brutality. But when the demon side of you reared its head around Steve, he couldn’t stay. That part of you saw him as a threat, as competition, the prize being Bucky himself. It made you feel sick for hours afterwards, but Bucky was always patient and understanding.

On those days, the bad ones, the part of you that wasn’t entirely human had a stronger hold than the rest of you, and it treated everyone but Bucky like a hostile enemy. Those days were the worst, for both of you. Bucky couldn’t get close enough to offer you any comfort, and you couldn’t ask for it. You missed him so much it physically hurt, but when he approached, your body acted on instincts you didn’t understand, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running and hiding.

On a good day when you could be approached, Strange and Wong visited to conduct a round of new tests. Unlike the previous ones where nothing of interest had happened, it seemed that every instrument that touched you now either lit up like Times Square, or it simply exploded in their hands.

So much for being a magical dead battery.

Strange explained your “condition” and you tried to focus as best you could, still unable to talk and ask questions, even though you could technically write them down. Bucky asked plenty, keeping an eye on you in case you reacted unpredictably as you sometimes did. You were still a little too feral for Bucky to leave alone for long, a fact that was deeply shameful but you couldn’t do anything about. You prayed this wasn’t your new normal.

According to Strange, you were actually _very _gifted with magic, and all his previous tests had been wrong. Something to do with you suppressing your magic in your childhood—you didn’t really understand most of what he said—but he did know why you looked the way you did. In order to survive the harsh conditions of the demon realm, you’d absorbed some of the natural energy of the planet in order to “adapt.” Essentially, you’d become a pseudo-demon.

Strange was unsure if the changes were permanent, because this type of magic was incredibly advanced and should have been well beyond what a novice like you could achieve.

Bucky was handling the news better than you were, even though you becoming a demon had to be his worst nightmare. So when he looked at you as if he was scared you might break or vanish, you ignored the wizards in the room and melded yourself to Bucky’s side.

He didn’t move for a moment, but before you could pull away, Bucky put a hand around your shoulders and petted your hair. You sighed and melted into him further. He was as warm and solid as he always was, his earthy scent creating a familiar tingle in your stomach—

_“Ahem.”_

You looked up, blinking, having forgotten all about the wizards. Wong was giving you a frown that reminded you of a scolding schoolteacher, while Strange was trying to suppress an amused look.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Strange said as he stood from the couch. Wong followed him to the middle of the room where there was enough room to create a portal back to the Sanctum.

Strange’s innuendo was wasted; as soon as the wizards departed, that glimpse of your old self vanished, and you were back to hiding under the bed. You heard Bucky’s heavy sigh, but he didn’t say anything. He never did. He simply waited with saintly patience for you to eventually come out.

It didn’t hit you, how hard all of this was for him, until later that night.

You’d just woken from a nap to find the lights left off, the room dark and the snowy city glittering outside the clock face windows. You crawled out from under the bed and glanced around, ears perked when you couldn’t find Bucky in his usual spots. He wasn’t in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or in his study.

You craned your head back to look at the staircase spiraling around the elevator shaft, leading to the empty belfry. It was the last place to look.

Walking on your hands and feet, crouched over like an animal, you ascended the staircase on near-silent footsteps. The temperature dropped with each twist of the stairs, and you shivered despite your fur, still getting used to the late winter chill.

Pausing on the staircase, you peeked your head above the landing and froze at the sight of the bent figure. Wings draped along his back, his tail curled around his feet, Bucky sat on his haunches while staring at something in his hands.

It took you a minute to place the object, and when you remembered, it hit you like a train.

Bucky was holding an old, scruffy, stripped grey tabby. The _animus. _The thing that had bound you to him, and the last time he’d held it in his hands you’d nearly gone out of your mind with desire.

And now you felt… no different than you had before. The bond was gone, and the toy was just a toy.

Your ears folded back, your chest aching so deeply you could hardly breathe. Bucky didn’t appear any happier. Moonlight poured in front the old windows above his head, painting a lonely, melancholy picture.

Bucky pulled the toy against his chest, shoulders slumping forward, and he took a shaking breath. You froze, listening intently, and crushing guilt washed over you when his breathing hitched again.

Bucky was silently crying.

Your descent down the stairs would have felt like fleeing if you hadn’t been completely numb with horror. _You_ had done this to Bucky. You’d driven him to hide his pain, only releasing it when he thought you wouldn’t know.

Tail between your legs, literally and mentally, you crawled into the bathroom and shut the door. Hesitating, you turned on the lights and rose to your feet to unwillingly look in the mirror. You’d tried to avoid it as much as you could, only catching glimpses in the window and reflective surfaces.

You looked the same as you had in the demon realm. Grey-blue fur, cat-like ears and tail, curled horns, and slitted eyes. Only now did you realize something so ridiculously obvious: you looked a lot like Monster.

You shut your eyes and tried to push the thought of your hobgoblin out of your mind. No one could find him, not at your apartment and not at the Sanctum, and you couldn’t bear the thought you’d never see him again. Strange critter or not, he was family, and you couldn’t imagine losing him on top of everything else.

Gazing back at your reflection, tail twitching behind you, you concentrated. You had no idea what you were doing and that was obvious when after several minutes, nothing happened. You gripped the sink, nails scratching against the metal as you tried harder. You were not going to live out the rest of your life as a goddamn _animal._

Try as you might, nothing continued to happen, and you sagged against the sink in defeat. You couldn’t live like this, half-wild and unpredictable. Bucky was a patient as he could be, and it occurred to you he would continue to try to help you no matter the cost to himself. That’s just how he was, selfless to the point of self-destructive.

That, more than anything, got you moving. Thinking of Bucky and what Strange had told you earlier that day, you came up with an idea. It was asking too much of Bucky, but if it worked, maybe he’d be able to forgive you.

Bucky found you sitting cross-legged on the bed when he came down the stairs. His brows rose, clearly not expecting you to be waiting for him, and his gaze dropped to the notepad and marker in your hands. On good days, you could communicate with writing. In a twist of irony, it was the same pad and marker you’d used to talk to him when the heigore had torn up your vocal cords and the sorcerers had silenced you to recover.

As soon as he appeared on the staircase you started scribbling, and as he approached, you scooted over and patted the covers next to you. When Bucky sat, a couple feet from you with careful movements, you held up the pad. He read it.

“You need… a favor from me?”

You nodded, wrote again, and underlined it twice.

“A _big _favor.”

You nodded again, sharp nails curling around the pad as you tried to quell your nerves.

“Okay.” He eyed you carefully. “What kind of favor?”

You couldn’t blame Bucky for his cautiousness. Besides communicating the bare minimum to him, this was the first time you’d held any kind of conversation since he’d rescued you from a very literal Hell. Guilt continued to twist up your insides, but you pressed onward.

The next words you wrote took far longer than it should have, considering there were only two. You stared at them for a moment, your fur slowly puffing up. Bucky was watching, his expression growing more concerned by the second.

“Hey, you can tell me, whatever it is,” Bucky said. He moved a little closer, and you flinched. His expression was immediately regretful, but it wasn’t what he thought at all.

Before you lost your nerve, you held up the pad and quickly looked away.

Bucky didn’t repeat the words you’d scrawled on the paper. Instead, he gave out a croaked, _“What?”_

You pulled back the pad and stared down at the words you’d written.

**Fuck me.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say I was sorry for the cliffhanger lkajsdkf but at least you know next chapter we'll finally have some spicy food. And it is very spicy.


	48. Requisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a proposition for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a whole week of waiting, I hope this sates your demon Bucky needs. Bon appétit.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Explicit sexual content, minor blood play, non-human sex, demon-on-demon fuckery

Maybe you should have softened the blow first.

Bucky looked as if he’d been slapped. You scribbled furiously on the notepad’s next page, not wanting him to shut you down before hearing you out.

**Demon energy. You feed on energy. Feeding take away demon energy? Become human?**

Bucky stared at the pad for a long moment, his mouth working, before he finally spoke. His voice was strained.

“I don’t… think it works that way, sweetheart—“

You smacked your pen flat against the paper, and Bucky snapped his mouth shut. Reining in your frustration, but only just, you scribbled again.

**Try.**

He exhaled heavily and stared at you with so much affection and worry that you almost aborted your plan.

But the truth was… more complicated than whether or not a feeding would solve your demonic issues. It wasn’t the fur and the horns and the tail that bothered you so much as what they represented. You were losing your humanity. You were losing yourself.

And you never felt more like yourself, more human, more_ alive_ than when you were touching Bucky. You missed him so much it was a constant ache, and you knew it wasn’t one-sided. There had been days when Bucky had to excuse himself to the bathroom when you were especially cuddly, the heavy scent of arousal coming off him in waves.

Maybe it wouldn’t work. It probably wouldn’t. All you knew was, you needed Bucky as much as he needed you. The ending of the demon pact didn’t change that.

“What if it makes things worse?” Bucky said, searching your face. Imploring you to see reason, perhaps. “What if I hurt you?”

**If it goes wrong we stop.**

“I’m not…” He worried at his lip. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop once we start.”

You wrote quickly, almost furiously, and showed it to him.

**Then don’t.**

Bucky opened his mouth, but you’d already tossed aside the notepad and crawled onto his thighs. You leaned in and nipped and teased at the lip he’d bitten a moment ago, holding his head between your hands as you almost-kissed him.

Your movements were confident, without hesitation, like a predator moving in for the kill, but you were gentle as you licked into his mouth. Bucky groaned, hands falling to your hips as he pulled you fully into his lap. Despite his voiced doubts he was already fully hard, and you were feverish to get those jeans off him immediately.

Unlike previous times, you took charge, shoving him back onto the covers with more force than you intended. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, his pupils blown wide as he swallowed heavily. You definitely weren’t as careful as you could have been as you tore open his jeans and pulled them down his thighs. You rucked up his shirt, running your hands over his abs as you palmed his muscled chest.

_“Fuck,”_ he hissed, slightly arching his back as he squeezed your ass.

Bucky’s movements gave you full access to his neck, and you dove in, licking and tasting his skin as his pheromones flooded your senses. It was an involuntary reaction when he was aroused, and that fact, more than the scent, made you growl deep in your throat.

You were already wearing loose clothing, lounge pants and a baggy t-shirt. Your claws made it difficult to handle fabric without tearing it, and tight clothing agitated your fur. So it took you only a couple of heartbeats to pull off your clothes and straddle Bucky, completely naked.

He hadn’t seen you like this, not since your change. Bucky’s eyes were wide, almost reverent, as he stroked his hands up your sides.

Your fur ruffled in his wake, your tail arching over your back. You were already wet for him, and you reached beneath you and impatiently shoved down his boxer-briefs.

“C-careful,” he stammered as you dragged the side of your claw up his cock, already rock hard with a bead of precum forming at the tip as soon as it was freed. You smeared it over the head with your thumb, still facing Bucky and straddling his thighs, watching his features closely as he tried not to moan and buck from your touch.

You could have stayed like that for much longer, slowly taking him apart until he was a shaking mess under you. But you were too impatient for that, too desperate to take him for yourself. You weren’t sure if the human side of you was in full control anymore.

To the delicious sound of Bucky’s shaky breaths, you gripped him tighter, lifted yourself up, and lined him up with your entrance. When you began to push was when Bucky gave his first real, desperate moan.

It fueled you, and you pushed back harder, gritting your teeth at the unexpected flare of pain. But you didn’t stop, only pushed down more stubbornly, letting out a growl of frustration.

_“S-stop, stop.”_

Bucky panted and gripped your hips to stop you himself. You shot him a glare and another growl, this one in warning.

“You’re not… bonded to me anymore,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “Which means your body isn’t going to… to open up to me like it did before. You have to go slow—“

You batted his hands out of the way, took his cock in hand, and held it firm as you attempted to spear yourself on it.

Bucky growled your name between his teeth, and you snapped yours a few inches from his face, a challenge to try and stop you. He could, of course, no matter how demonic you looked, Bucky was an_ actual_ demon and far stronger than you were. He could remove you without difficulty, but he didn’t. He continued to lie on his back, his teeth bared in a primal expression you’d never seen before, and it sent your nerves aflame.

His dominant display cracked when the head of his cock finally breached your entrance, and you used his brief distraction to lean down and kiss him. It was rougher than anything you’d done before, your sharp teeth gently biting at his lower lip.

When he gripped your hips, you thought he was going to flip you over. Instead, Bucky thrust upwards, and at the same time shoved you halfway onto his cock.

You cried out, a shrill chirp that soundly like nothing human, and Bucky was immediately apologizing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Did I hurt-_Ah!”_

Bucky thrust involuntarily, digging himself a couple inches deeper when your teeth sank into his shoulder, and now he was embedded even further inside you.

You released him and licked the trickling wound, knowing any minor injuries would be healed within minutes. It made you want to mark him up in a way that would leave something behind. Moving on to his neck, you licked and sucked with renewed hunger, wanting to claim Bucky even if it was only temporary.

Bucky moaned and writhed, rolling his hips even as you sensed the restraint of his movements. But you weren’t interested in restraint or a controlled Bucky.

Pulling back just far enough to see his face, you met his eye, braced a hand against his chest, and slid the rest of the way down onto his cock.

The stretch was almost unbearable, burning you from the inside out in a way that made your eyes water, but it was all worth it to watch as Bucky arched his back and gave up every curse he knew.

Licking a stripe up his jawline, you tasted his sweat, a mixture of pheromones and the musky scent that was solely his, and you made a pleased noise. You braced your knees against the bed in an attempt to slide yourself up Bucky’s cock… and realized you couldn’t move.

You were stuck.

Bucky groaned at the pull, and seeing your frustrated face he gave a breathless laugh.

“I did tell you… to take it slow.” His lips cracked into a toothy grin. “You know… what I call that? Your eyes were too big for your—“

He choked on his words as you wiggled your hips, unable to move up or down but finding you didn’t have to. The pressure against your G-spot was amazing even without the friction, but it wasn’t enough, and you gave another impatient growl.

“Come here,” Bucky said, pulling you down against his chest. You allowed it, because he immediately began to rock his hips up into you, giving you just enough friction.

You keened against his throat, enthusiastically licking him as the rocking motion gradually turned into slow thrusting as you finally loosened.

For your lack of talking, Bucky made up for it, grunting out filthy things you’d never heard from him before.

“Fuck, fuck you’re _so_ tight. I’m glad I can’t cum until you do, because holy shit, I… _God,_ what are those _noises_ you’re making? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so good for me. Always so good for me.”

You thrummed in your throat and pulled back, sitting up fully on his hips. The change in angle made him groan, and he gave a sharp cry when you started to move your hips on your own. Lifting up only a couple inches and thrusting back down, you fucked yourself on his cock, digging your claws into the firm muscles of his chest and leaving scratches behind.

_Mine. All mine._

You rode him hard and fast, barely giving him a chance to breathe as you speared yourself on him over and over. Bucky’s flexing muscles and delicious cut-off moans and grunts pushed you close to the edge, and when the pressure in your gut snapped, you bent down and dug your teeth into his shoulder, this time deep enough to properly bleed.

Bucky harshly cried out as he thrust up into you one last time, his cock spasming and his knot expanding as he emptied himself into you. The familiar drain of the feeding heightened your pleasure, dragging out the orgasm as copper liquid coated your tongue.

As soon as you let go, you immediately lapped at the wound, using all the care and gentleness that had been absent before. Bucky shivered and rubbed his hands down your hips and thighs, and once you were done cleaning his wound you cradled your face into his neck.

“I’m not even going to try to move you. My knot hasn’t filled like that in a while. Not since the bond was first activated.” Judging from his sharp gasp, Bucky had winced. “Fuck. Feels like you completely milked me, too.”

You gave a pleased rumble, a low noise that continued to sound from your chest.

“Are you… are you purring?”

You gave him a little lick as an answer. Bucky hummed and rubbed his hands up your back again, your fur continuing to ruffle under the touch.

“The feeding didn’t change you,” he softly said. “I don’t think either of us really believed it would.”

You said nothing, because you couldn’t, and also because he was right. Bucky sighed.

“You know I don’t care what you look like, right?” His words were as gentle as his touches. “Or what you feel like, or smell like, or act like. You’re still you, and I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I didn’t make that clear enough since you’ve been back.”

He exhaled heavily as he wrapped his arms around you, just holding you, and you found you didn’t mind. You didn’t even mind having a difficult conversation if it meant Bucky did most of the talking. You were too tired and blissed out, even if you could speak.

But you gave him another little lick all the same, telling him you knew. You still loved Bucky, even as changed as you were, and it was a relief to know he felt the same, especially if this was… permanent.

After a minute, he cleared his throat.

“Also, I won’t lie: you going predator mode like that was really, really sexy.”

The rumble that left your chest was the closest you could give to laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detroit: Become Human? More like Demon: Become Top.


End file.
